


Facing Down the Void

by zombolouge



Series: What is it with Redheaded Rogues, Anyways? [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ALL THE SPOILERS, Action/Adventure, Alistair is bad at code words, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Cassandra has very little patience for your shit, Cliffhangers, Cole fluff that will rot your teeth out, Cullen wins sometimes, Dealing with PTSD, Druffalo Humor, Ensemble Cast, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Glistening bits, Grey Warden Mysteries, Jealousy, Letters, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Reunions, Revelations, Romantic Gestures, Sequel, Smut, Spoilers, Strawberries and blindfolds, Suspense, The Fade, Theories, Unrequited Love, Very Intense Wicked Grace, Vivienne sass, adopted crows, bands of merry misfits, character tags will update as we go, complicated plotlines, fluffy gambling, long fic will be long, lots of swearing, lovely people, sacrilegious smut, slightly AU, sweet cinnamon bun, that is not the Chant's intended purpose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 193,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombolouge/pseuds/zombolouge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continuation of the adventures of Inquisitor Autumn Trevelyan, Champion Lilly Hawke, Warden Melody Theirin, and many of the friends they collected over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One and Only

The wind raced across the back of the mountains, scattering snow dust into the air around the frigid peaks, whirling around her and pulling strands out of her ponytail, dragging the hair across her face. She blinked as the tresses ghosted across her eyes, threading in between her lashes until she was forced to lift her hand and irritably swipe them away. She felt little pinpricks of ice scatter onto her cheeks and she shivered, despite the thick coat wrapped around her body. She halted her progress for a moment, squinting up at the sky to give a baleful look at the sun. It shouldn't be allowed to shine so brightly and yet provide her no heat whatsoever. She longed for a warm fire in a hearth somewhere, a glass of wine and a good book. The arms of her husband.

  
Xander sneezed as he padded next to her, shaking his head at whatever invisible irritant was bothering him. She glanced down at him, smiling slightly when he upturned his head, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth comically. At least _his_ spirits remained indomitable.

  
“You never get tired, do you boy?” She asked him. He wagged his stumpy little tail and barked in agreement. She glanced up, looking around the snow covered pathway wondering where his love had gotten to. “Where's Indra?” she asked the mutt, not really expecting an answer. Xander bounded off around one of the boulders and she heard the pair of mabari yapping excitedly at each other for a moment. She followed the sound, laughing softly as the pair rolled in the snow, covering themselves in white powder that melted against their coats, glittering against the sunlight. “Idiots.” she muttered, although she couldn't imagine traveling without them. They managed to keep her heart light, even after all this time away from home.

  
She walked past them, knowing they would follow in their own time, and headed up the next rise. Her legs ached, a steady burn that had started hours ago and refused to let up no matter how many times she stopped to rest. Something about these Maker forsaken mountains just made traveling that much harder. Probably the constantly upward sloping paths, or the long detours around boulders she was forced to take in order to avoid the main road, which had become rather more populated than she was comfortable with. Underneath the ache she could feel the steady, crawling sensation of the taint below her skin, little claws digging away at her until she wanted to scratch away her flesh and scream. Sometimes, when everything was still and quiet, she could almost hear it singing in her veins, some soft song that was as beautiful as it was unnerving, making her shudder even as she strained to hear it. It was in those moments she missed Alistair the most. She had always been able to turn to him when the reality of her world grew too much to bear, to look at him and see that goofy grin and know that things couldn't possibly be that bad with a man like him in the world. If the taint was darkness, Alistair was light, and it was hard for her being away from him over the past couple of years.

  
She stumbled slightly near the top of the ridge, her foot catching on a stone she hadn't seen beneath the snow. She cursed under her breath, the air from her lips misting as it collided with the frigid temperatures around her. She was so consumed in her breathless tirade at the ground beneath her it took her several moments before she realized the sight that lay before her, nestled in the middle of the Frostbacks like a stout beacon of victory.

  
Skyhold stood, tall and proud, just a mere mile in the distance, its towers practically gleaming as the sun glinted off the stone, flags and banners flapping cheerily in the wind. Her lips parted as she looked on in awe, taking in the veritable castle before her. She hadn't known it would be so _big_. Then again she shouldn't be surprised, the fortress that could house something as impressive as the Inquisition _should_ be nothing less than intimidating. As she forced her legs to start moving again, bringing her towards her destination, that was _finally_ in sight, she found herself wondering idly if it was bigger than the castle in Denerim.

  
It took her another twenty minutes or so to make it to the imposing bridge that led to the entrance of the hold. She had picked up her pace, which had caused an uncomfortable sweat to form along her spine, making the thick wool lining of her coat stick to her skin, and now that she reached the causeway her thighs were ready to give out in revolt against her unfair punishment over the past couple of days. She decided she wasn't overly fond of trekking through the mountains on foot, and that next time she would make sure she kept the Maker cursed horse, even if it did make her more conspicuous. She hefted her pack on her back, adjusting it so it rested more comfortably, as well as reassuring herself it was still there, and strode forward onto the blessedly even stonework. Xander and Indra bounded around her in a circle before settling themselves, keeping pace just a foot or so behind her.

  
She reached the gate, glancing up in awe at just how large it was before a pair of guards approached her. Their expressions were not unfriendly, but they seemed to be confused about her presence. She would wager they didn't often get unannounced visitors all the way out here, even if the Inquisition was the most talked about group in Thedas. Their postures were relaxed and nonthreatening, but she caught the subtle movement as they placed their hands surreptitiously near their weapons.

  
“M'lady, may we help you?” the female soldier on the left asked her.

  
Melody gave her the best estimation of a pleasant smile she could bring her wind chapped face to make. “Yes, I'm here to see Sister Leliana.”

  
The guards looked at one another questioningly, their demeanor changing to one of suspicious concern. “Wait here, don't move.” the male snapped, his expression doing a complete one eighty, straight from passive to alarmed, before turning on his heel and walking briskly through a door leading into the tower beside the gate. Melody cocked her head to the side, looking at the remaining soldier curiously. She had known Leliana had grown cautious over the years, but surely just asking for her was not enough to arouse so much suspicion? Then again she had been off the grid for so long any number of things could have happened to put them all on high alert. She cursed the necessity of her secrecy, hoping that her inability to give them forewarning of her arrival was not going to earn her a sword in her gut. Or, as was far more likely, earn them a number of senselessly killed men.

  
“Er, is everything alright?” Melody asked the guard, feigning a naive curiosity. She flexed her shoulders discreetly, shifting her hips so that her daggers bumped against her, letting her measure exactly how long it would take to grab them if she needed to.

  
“Um...what business do you have with uh...Sister Leliana?” she stammered in return. She was hiding something, that much was apparent, and she was terrible at being coy about it.

  
Melody took a breath, going over her options in her head. Could she trust the lower members of the Inquisition the same way she could trust Leliana? Certainly the leaders would appreciate her need to retain her anonymity, but would the general rank and file have the same discretion? If the Inquisition WASN'T able to help her, she'd have to leave and go back into hiding, and she couldn't exactly risk having a bunch of nameless soldiers knowing the details of her visit. No, it was definitely better they didn't know who she was or why she was here. She didn't need word getting out the Queen of Ferelden was in Skyhold.

  
She gave the guard a forcibly cheery smile. “I'm afraid I can't say to anyone but her.”

  
That was not the answer the guard wanted, and she drew her blade, leveling it at Melody evenly. For a moment Melody just blinked at her, but when Xander and Indra started growling, hackles raising at the threat to their master, Melody took a nimble hop back, drawing her daggers and dropping into a smooth half crouch.

  
“I'm not here to fight anybody.” Melody said evenly as the guard eyed her with terror, pupils dilating as she took in the two dogs snapping their teeth irritably.

  
“Then put away your weapons.” the guard rejoined. An interesting reaction, to say the least. Even though the tip of the guard's sword swayed gently with the shaking hand that held it, she was still willing to stand her ground to protect her people. Admirable. Stupid, considering the odds of her taking down an armed rogue and a pair of trained war hounds weren't exactly in her favor, but admirable all the same.

  
“You drew first.” Melody reminded her, stalling for time, trying to figure out what to do to either diffuse the situation or run inside until she could locate someone she could talk to.

  
“State your name and I'll think about standing down.” the guard was gaining courage, it seemed, and she squared her shoulders after she spoke. Indra let out a warning bark that echoed loudly in the cold air.

  
“I won't talk to anyone but -”

  
“Melody?”

  
She snapped her head towards the incredulous voice, her gaze falling to the open door the guard had disappeared through earlier. Standing in the threshold with a rather surprised look on his face was a figure right out of her past. At least she was pretty sure it was him. He looked different...gone was the curly haired, angry templar she remembered from the circle tower, no more than a scared boy who had been traumatized without mercy before she had arrived. Before her now stood a man that was proud, capable, strong. And really great hair, interestingly enough.

  
She stood, depositing her daggers back in place underneath her cloak before giving him a big grin. So much for keeping her identity hidden. “You know, I had hoped to get in _before_ people figured out who I was.” She snapped her fingers and the dogs behind her calmed, sitting obediently. “Nice to see you, Cullen.”

 

***

 

For half a second Cullen felt like he was back in the circle tower, staring at the strangely fascinating woman before him, just as he had all those years ago. He had to blink several times before he noticed the changes time had wrought on the rogue who became queen. She looked older, although not in a physical way as much as she just looked weary, like the world had weighed too heavily for her to keep all that exuberant youth she had possessed when she was younger. Her rich auburn hair was longer, although she still kept it in that same ponytail that never seemed to stay contained, strands falling out to loosely frame her face. She gave him an impish smile, her light green eyes sparkling with mischief, lifting cheekbones that were no longer dusted with freckles. There was a small scar across her right cheek that hadn't been there before, but she still looked as regal as she used to, her long face and defined jaw held up high. It was a wonder she was able to sneak around the world at all without people recognizing her.

  
“Maker's breath, what are you doing here?” he finally said, striding down the small steps to greet her. He was surprised when she jumped into his arms, crushing him in a big hug as the metal plate on the front of her armor clanked against his own.

  
“What, I can't visit old friends?” she said, releasing him and shrugging, as if popping up out of the blue were the most natural thing for the missing queen of Ferelden to do.

  
He gave her a dubious look. “Uh, not after disappearing for years.”

  
He saw her glance hesitantly at the guards still standing beside them, biting her lower lip. “Is there someplace else we could have this conversation?”

  
“Of course.” he gave her a curt bow before offering her his arm. She took it gratefully, walking easily with him into the hold. Her two mabari padded quietly behind them. Cullen spared a meaningful glance to the guards, warning them silently that they shouldn't speak of this. Two curt nods let him know his message had been received.

  
“So, any particular reason why asking for Leliana almost got me shanked?”

  
He chuckled, recalling the guard's hectic message. “They thought you were an assassin.”

  
“What in the name of all that is holy gave them that idea?” her brows furrowed as she puzzled over the notion.

  
“One, you asked for Leliana directly. Two, she isn't here, and they thought it incredibly odd you didn't know that.”

  
“Not here? Where is she?”

  
“I take it you never heard?” he raised a brow at her.

  
She shook her head. “Has something happened? I've been out of the loop for a bit.”

  
“She's Divine Victoria now, presiding over the chantry from her new home in Val Royeaux.”

  
Melody stopped short, giving him a look somewhere between joy and horror. “Andraste's frosted snickerdoodles, what else have I missed?”

  
He started moving them forward again, chuckling as they crossed the courtyard towards the main keep. “Well, that could be an incredibly long story depending on what you heard last.”

  
“Well, last I heard your Inquisitor was fighting one of the original evil magisters. I know you guys took care of it, but beyond that I have no clue. I was a bit...far away.” she said vaguely.

  
“Ah. Well, yes, we _did_ defeat Corypheus. After that Leliana was elected as the new Divine. She took over and has since abolished the circles, cut direct ties with the templar order, and decreed that people of all races can serve the chantry now.”

  
Melody let out a low whistle. “She really didn't do it halfway, did she?”

  
“You _do_ remember her, right? Leliana never does _anything_ halfway.”

  
Melody laughed, a bright, musical sound not unlike Leliana's had been, on the rare occasions he had heard it, usually when it was directed at himself. “You make a valid point, ser. Although it is a pity, I was looking forward to seeing her again.”

  
“I'm sure she'll be furious when she finds out she missed you.” he smirked.

  
“I suppose that means I'll need to speak with your Inquisitor then. I'm afraid my visit wasn't purely for pleasure.”

  
“That can certainly be arranged. She's been promising Alistair to go looking for you anyhow, this certainly saves her the trouble of finding you.”

  
At the mention of her husband Melody clenched her hand around his arm, a pained expression passing over her face. She blinked quickly several times, taking a deep breath that had a slight tremor to it. “How is he?”

  
“Good, I believe. He's had his hands full after Varric sent a few friends to him for safe harbor while the world was falling apart. They've been driving him crazy, from what I hear. Although he misses you.” Cullen gave her arm a reassuring squeeze as they finally entered the great hall.

  
“Hey Curly, you replacing Hummingbird already?” Varric drawled from his seat, as though the mere mention of him had summoned him, a smug grin on his face as he looked over the red head on Cullen's arm.

  
Cullen scowled at him. “Are you going to ask me that every time I'm so much as talking to a woman, Varric?”

  
“Nah, just pretty red heads. I wager you have a thing for them by now.” Varric winked conspiratorially at Melody, who laughed at the display.

  
“Wait a moment, you're not _the_ Varric Tethras, are you?” she asked him, letting go of Cullen's arm to stroll over to the table.

  
“The one and only, at your service.” Varric gave her an awkward bow while he remained seated.

  
“A pleasure to finally meet you. My husband talks about you endlessly.”

  
“Oh-ho! Chasing after married women now, are we Commander?” Cullen shot Varric a death glare, which in no way deterred him. “I see you have me at a disadvantage. May I ask your name, my fair lady?” He was tilting back in his chair, eyeing her languidly.

  
“Melody Theirin, good ser.” She gave him a curtsy as he fell out of his seat in shock.

  
“ _The_ Melody Theirin? Alistair's wife? _Queen of Ferelden_?” Varric asked her as he scrambled to his feet.

  
She laughed, and Cullen was hit again over how musical it sounded, like someone ringing a bell. “Yes, Varric. _That_ Melody. Now keep it down, I don't need the entire world to know.”

  
“Andraste's ass, Curly, give a guy some warning before you start running around with royalty!” Varric glared at him.

  
“ _You're_ the one who decided to run at the mouth in front of a stranger. Serves you right.” Cullen smirked at him.

  
“What? What am I supposed to say when you're strutting around all cozy with some strange woman? I have to look out for Hummingbird's interests, you know.”

  
“Do you honestly think that I would ever do anything...” Cullen shook his head in disbelief.

  
“You did kiss the Duchess that one time.” Varric shot back.

  
“ _She_ kissed _me_! And if you recall what happened afterward you would know I'd have to be _insane_ to go after another woman.”

  
Melody held up her hands, laughing and shaking her head. “Okay, okay, hang on. _Who_ is Hummingbird? Cullen has a girlfriend? This is all going right over my head.”

  
“It's Varric's nickname for the Inquisitor.” Cullen told her, feeling the blush creep across his cheeks.

  
“ _Wait_. _Wait_.” she seemed to bounce on the balls of her feet for a moment, a giddy expression overtaking her elegant features. “You have a girlfriend, and it's the Inquisitor? So someone finally melted all that angsty ice around your soft little templar heart?”

  
Cullen scowled, likely harder than he had ever scowled before. “I was never _angsty_ , and I am no longer a templar.”

  
“ _Oh_ , but you don't deny your involvement with your leader?” she cried victoriously, pointing at him as though accusing him of some crime she'd been clever enough to discover.

  
“I think he lost any plausible deniability after he married her.” Varric added helpfully.

  
Melody let out a girlish squeal. “Oh Cullen, that's fantastic! I'm so happy for you!” she reigned in her excitement then, looking at him appraisingly, as though seeing him for the first time. “You really have changed since the last time I saw you.”

  
“I might have had some sense beaten into me by a couple of very well meaning, very stubborn women.” Cullen shrugged, grinning. He had to admit it was nice to see Melody looking at him without disappointment. She had never much cared for his reaction to what happened in the tower. Back then what she had told him had only puzzled him, but of course now it made perfect sense. It had taken over a decade, but Cullen could officially hold his head high over the knowledge that he no longer held any prejudices towards mages. He'd even been party to the organization in part responsible for freeing them from the shackles of circle life.

  
“I absolutely need to meet this woman.” Melody said resolutely.

  
“I absolutely need to be there for this.” Varric added, his grin large enough to nearly split his face in half. “If her majesty has no objections, that is.”

  
Melody looked at him, giving him a once over with her gaze. “Um...” she hesitated.

  
“If it helps, Varric is a part of the upper echelons of the Inquisition, and any information you shared he would likely be privy to anyhow by virtue of how closely he works with the Inquisitor.” Cullen told her.

  
Varric held up his hand, palm out as though swearing an oath. “I'm trustworthy, I swear on my honor as a rogue.”

  
Melody nodded. “Well, Alistair trusted you, so I suppose you can't be that terrible.”

  
Varric frowned just slightly. “No offense, but you may want to use another scale to weigh trustworthiness. Alistair _also_ trusted Isabela, and while that turned out okay in the end I wouldn't trust Rivaini as far as I could throw her. And she's pretty top heavy, so that wouldn't be very far.”

  
“Awe, that's hardly fair, Varric. You can trust her as long as you aren't playing cards.” Cullen said, then he grimaced slightly. “Or trying to stop a Qunari uprising.”

  
Varric shrugged. “I guess she _did_ come back. Eventually.”

  
“Well, in any case, if Alistair, Cullen, _and_ the Inquisitor trust you, I will just have to go with it. You can't all be wrong, right?”

  
Varric laughed heartily. “The grisly death I would find at the hands of our lovely leader would more than make up for it if they were.”

  
“Come on,” Cullen said amiably, “let's take this to the war room so we can get you off your feet and finally find out why you've decided to honor us with your presence.”

  
Melody laughed brightly again as they walked on, heading towards the room at a brisker pace. “You won't feel so honored when you find out why I'm here.”


	2. I Hate Nobles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Autumn does an excellent job of putting her foot in her mouth.

Autumn let out a heaving sigh, allowing her head to slowly tilt down with the exhale until her forehead was resting against her desk. She closed her eyes, wishing fervently that when she opened them again the stack of letters she was being forced to answer would simply disappear. When she inhaled she could smell the heavy pine from the polish used to clean her desk, the musty pulp of the papers strewn across its surface, all mingling with the breeze being carried in from outside that caught the scent of fresh linen from the gently shifting curtains. Somewhere a bird was serenading the sky, tuneless notes drifting upward in a such a carefree way that Autumn was vastly envious of the feathered performer. What she wouldn't give to sprout wings and leap off the balcony for a quick lap around the endless blue above them.

  
“You know, you would finish much faster if you stopped collapsing in despair every five minutes.” Josephine said, not looking up from her own stack. She reached over her pile and grabbed her tea cup, pinky extended outward like a little flagpole of dignity, taking a prim sip before raising her eyebrow in Autumn's direction. She set the cup back down delicately, carefully avoiding even the slightest tinkle of china as it moved. Her amusement at Autumn's disgruntlement did not serve to lessen the severity of her waning mood.

  
Autumn groaned loudly, the sound echoing oddly in her ears as it carried below the desk to bounce around her ankles. “Josie, I hate nobles. I hate their stupid words and their ridiculous handwriting and their whining and pleading.” She sat up, picking up one of the letters and waving it around angrily. “This one wants to know if I'll arrange for one of my children to marry theirs in exchange for access to his family's silverite mines. I don't even _have_ children yet, Josie.”

  
Josephine frowned thoughtfully, holding out her hand. “Let me see that one. Maybe I can persuade him to trade for something else.”

  
Autumn relinquished the paper, rolling her eyes. “My lack of sufficient trading leverage was _not_ the point of that statement.”

  
“I noticed.” she gave her a harried smile. “However one shouldn't scoff at the offer of a good source of silverite.”

  
Autumn let her head sink back down onto the desk, making a small thunk as her skull came in contact with the polished wood. “Just promise me you won't auction off my unborn children.”

  
Even though she wasn't looking, she could hear Josephine's warm smile through her words. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

  
There was a soft knock on the door then, which she chose to ignore, stubbornly keeping her head down. She refused to acknowledge the interruption, as it was undoubtedly more letters that her unrelenting ambassador would make her read. She heard Josephine make a soft noise of disapproval before she shouted for the visitor to enter when it became apparent Autumn would not.

  
Autumn peeked up at the scout standing in her room as he gave a little bow to the pair of women. “Your Worship, Lady Ambassador, my apologies for disturbing you, but the Commander has requested your presence in the war room.” The soldier placed his hand over his heart in a stiff salute.

  
“Is there a dragon in the war room?” Autumn asked sardonically. Perhaps if she were set on fire she could get out of any further diplomatic duties for the day. Maybe she could even “accidentally” lose all her correspondence in the battle. She sighed internally, knowing that she must be reaching a breaking point if the idea of a dragon rummaging about Skyhold was genuinely appealing. Either that or she had been spending far too much time with Bull lately.

  
“No, your Worship, but they say if you make the Commander mad enough he's like to breathe fire.” the scout replied without missing a beat. Autumn snapped her head up, grinning at the man. It was no secret among their soldiers that Autumn hated her diplomatic duties, but it wasn't often that one of them was flippant enough to respond to her sarcasm with jokes of their own. It was almost _better_ than a dragon. Almost.

  
“You, sir, need a promotion.”

  
“I'll inform my superiors of your wishes at once.” he gave her another bow, slightly cheekier in nature, with an added flourish of his hands towards the end. This one was a keeper.

  
“Your name?” she asked easily.

  
He looked taken aback for a moment, but recovered fast enough. “Friedman, your Worship. Bryce Friedman.”

  
“Are you happy running messages around all day, Friedman?”

  
He gave a quick salute, a small smirk forming on his face. “As long as I'm not assigned to Lady Cassandra or Varric, your Worship.”

  
Autumn burst into a fit of laughter over that. It was well known that those were the absolute worst posts for the runners in Skyhold, as the pair were known to send endless, one sentence letters back and forth to each other. Letters Cassandra was usually not very cheerful about receiving. She'd heard a rumor once that Cassandra had flat out set one of them on fire, making the rather terrified scout wait until it was ashes before she sent back a reply, but of course Cassandra would never admit to such a heated display, and no scout would dare come forward to call her on her bluff, although her nickname, the Flaming Scourge, had taken on a slightly more amusing facet after that.

  
“Friedman, you've made me laugh twice now. I owe you a drink for that.”

  
“Your smile is payment enough, your Worship.” his smirk broadened.

  
She narrowed her eyes, although her smile remained. “Now you're just being a kiss-ass. Do you report to Cullen or Viv?”

  
“Neither, your worship. I was assigned by Lady Sera.”

  
Josephine snorted a small laugh at that point, drawing both their gazes at the uncharacteristically undignified sound. She blushed prettily, shrugging. “Sorry, I will never quite adjust to people addressing Sera as ' _lady_ Sera'.”

  
“You learn fast enough when you work under her, Lady Montilyet. Arrows in the rear end make for great motivators.” he gave Autumn a quick wink as Josephine muttered something about uncouth training practices under her breath.

  
“Alright, Friedman, tell Sera I want you assigned as my personal runner. It will do me good to have all these miserable letters delivered by someone with a sense of humor.” Autumn told him.

  
He looked sincerely honored at the prospect. “Thank you, your Worship...I...I don't know what to say. It's an honor.”

  
“Just say you'll do it. And nix it with the 'your Worship' garbage. If you have to keep it so formal, stick with something less _holy_.” she affected a dramatic shudder. She couldn't stop her entire army from throwing the moniker around, but she would hardly let someone she intended to poach permanently continue with it, or she would lose the pleasant effect of his humor very quickly.

  
“Yes, my lady. As you wish.” he gave another bow, but his grin had returned. “Will that be all, my lady?”

  
She waved her hand in dismissal. “Yes, thank you. Tell the commander we'll be right down.” He gave her another salute before spinning on his heel and marching briskly back down the stairs and out the door.

  
After he left Josephine lifted one of her dainty eyebrows as she smirked. “A dragon? Really?”

  
“I told you, I _hate_ nobles.” Autumn chuckled, standing from her chair and stretching eagerly. The joints in her spine popped satisfyingly as the tension eased out of her lower back, her body glad to be out of the chair she'd been huddled in for far too long today. Josephine rolled her eyes, picking up her things and organizing them neatly before she stood. They walked to the door together and headed down the long flights of stairs into the great hall.

  
The sun shone through the tall stained glass windows, casting rainbows of color across the crowds of nobles milling around in the hopes she would pass through. The pair smiled politely as they wound around them, begging pardons and disentangling themselves from any conversation further than simple greetings. Autumn heaved a sigh of relief when she finally shut the door to Josephine's office behind them, cloistering themselves away from the attention starved dignitaries. The warmth from the fire permeated the room, swallowing her in a pleasant wave of cheery energy as she leaned back against the wood. It smelled of fragrant smoke and chocolate in her office, a combination that never failed to lighten Autumn's mood when she walked through, something she was positive Josephine did on purpose. Perhaps it was how she was able to stay so enthusiastic in the face of all the drudgery she performed in the name of decorum.

  
“You just got back from a honeymoon, Autumn. Stop acting so harried.” Josephine clucked at her disapprovingly, although not without a decent amount of affection.

  
She gave the diplomat another scowl, blowing a small puff of air out of her cheeks to move an errant curl away from her face. The ringlet soared upward for a moment before falling back down into almost the exact spot it had been before. She reached up and brushed it aside, tucking it behind her ear irritably. “I saved the world and I only get three weeks off? You're no better than a slave driver, Josie.”

  
Josephine trilled a laugh as they made their way to the war room, apparently enjoying her leader's discomfiture. “You and Cullen are completely incorrigible. You'd think I was asking you tear open the skies again, rather than answer a few measly letters.”

  
Autumn pressed her palm against the war room door, pushing it open as she turned her head to respond over her shoulder, “Josie, if I have to deal with one more jumped up idiot who thinks their status means the Inquisition is their own personal fucking army, I _am_ going to tear another hole in the sky, just so I can jump into it.”

  
Josephine's eyes grew wide and a slight flush crept across her cheeks. Autumn stopped abruptly, worried she had finally managed to offend the poor Antivan beyond the point of redemption. It wasn't the first time she'd sworn around her, nor was it the rudest thing she had ever said in her presence, but perhaps she'd expressed her disdain one too many times today, or perhaps jokes about the breach were in poor taste still. She opened her mouth to apologize and noticed the diplomat's gaze was not on her, but on the room in front of them. She turned her head back forward, taking in the unusual scene that had her advisor so enraptured.

  
Her eyes locked with a strange red head sitting in her chair on the other side of the table, Varric and Cullen standing on either side of her with incredulous looks on their faces. Well, Autumn mused, at least Cullen's face was incredulous. Varric looked ready to burst into a fit of giggles so severe he might split apart, barely holding back his mirth behind a very smug smirk. The woman leaned forward, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand, a pleasant smile on her elegant features. Her spring green eyes seemed to shimmer impishly.

  
“ _Well_.” She said airily. “I certainly hope that threat was empty, or else I'm going to feel terribly guilty at the end of this meeting.”


	3. The Ashes of Our Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody has some very interesting documents to show everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is where we start to get into some of the crazy theories I have that will drive this story, which will all probably be wrong and this story will become wildly inaccurate whenever we get more stuff released by Bioware, but hopefully it will be a fun read anyhow! I have tried to fact check with existing canon as best as I could, so that it should fit in with what we know so far.

Autumn brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as Cullen coughed awkwardly. “I suppose you're a noble I have now horribly offended?” she asked, wishing she still had enough control over her mark to open up a rift capable of swallowing her whole. At least she would be less likely to receive letters in the fade, although something told her Josephine would find a way, if only to seek out revenge for this politically precarious moment.

  
The woman's voice, a sonorous lilt, was laced with amusement. “I _am_ a noble, although I can't say I'm particularly offended. My husband has said worse, believe me.”

  
Autumn opened one of her eyes experimentally, as though afraid she would be physically assaulted by disapproving glares if she weren't careful. She was surprised to see three grinning faces, each one slightly more smug than the last. She dropped her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, giving Cullen a stern glance before returning her attention back to the woman in the center. She considered a flurry of possible replies for a beat before giving up and letting slip the sarcastic quip burning away the tip of her tongue.

  
“Well, then I suppose I should thank your husband for softening you up for me, and having the good sense to despise nobility.”

  
The woman tipped back her head and laughed, a sound far lighter than her speaking tones that had a very infectious quality to it, and Autumn felt her face break into a grin in response. “I think we're going to get along just fine, Inquisitor.”

  
Autumn gave a small bow, bending at the waist slightly and dipping until her curls flew in front of her face. She laughed, and the breath sent the hair scattering away momentarily. “I aim to please, my lady.”

  
The door behind her opened and the steady clicking sound of heels was ushered into the chamber. Vivienne let out a low, breathy sound of disapproval as she surveyed the others, her gaze sweeping across them like light cutting through fog. Her eyes snapped back to a point on the floor, freezing in place as her lip curled upward almost imperceptibly in disgust. “Why are there _mabari_ in the war room?”

  
“Sorry, I guess I should have had them wait outside.” the woman answered, giving a slightly sheepish shrug in response. A small whine carried up from her feet, one of the dogs in question obviously unhappy at the suggestion.

  
Autumn became absorbed in the two dogs at the foot of their guest, panting happily as they watched the humans converse above them. She let out a small gasp, kneeling down and holding out her hands towards the dogs, eager to interact with the warhounds while she had the chance. It took them all of a second to realize she was ready to lavish them with attention before they hopped up, bounding over to her and attacking her with an abundance of dog affection. She was knocked backwards onto the floor and peppered with kisses and snuffles, their little mabari tails wagging excitedly. She laughed bodily, feeling the joy shake out of her stomach and through the rest of her.

  
“Cullen, how have we not gotten a dog yet?” She asked him. She heard his boots scuff against the floor as he walked around the room to gaze down at her with affection. Melody snapped her fingers and the dogs returned to her side obediently.

  
“I don't think mabari are particularly easy to come by.” he smirked at her, holding a hand out to help her up. She gladly took it, letting his strength drag her effortlessly to her feet. She bounced in the air for a moment, giggling like a small child at the weightlessness.

  
“What good is my influence if we can't even get a puppy?” she squeezed his hand momentarily, her fingers feeling small in the large leather gloves.

  
“Didn't you satisfy your infatuation with animals when you recruited the bear?” Vivienne asked her, clicking her tongue against her teeth as she strode to her customary position near the table, setting down a stack of missives with an easy grace.

  
“Storvacker is wonderful, but you can't snuggle with a bear at night.” Autumn told her, sniffing in feigned indignation.

  
“I'd think that's what Curly was for.” Varric drawled, and the woman next to him giggled.

  
Autumn rolled her eyes for Varric's benefit. “Only when he wears the cloak.”

  
Cullen coughed, his cheeks pinking slightly as Varric and the woman laughed together.

  
“If you all are quite finished, would someone mind introducing our guest and explaining why we've all been called to this impromptu meeting?” Vivienne asked casually, her eyebrow raised in Cullen's direction.

  
“Ah, yes.” he cleared his throat, looking slightly ashamed of his lack of courtesy. “It is my honor to introduce Melody Theirin, Queen of Ferelden.” Melody inclined her head politely, her shoulders drawing back automatically at the mention of her title. “Melody, this is Inquisitor Autumn Rutherford, Intelligence Officer Vivienne, and Ambassador Montilyet.” Autumn didn't miss the slight emphasis on her new last name, a wave of affection running through her over her husband's inordinate pride that he could introduce her as such. He never failed to use it, and whenever possible the moniker was slipping from his lips as his chest swelled with confidence. It was heartwarming and adorable and she couldn't bring herself to object, feeling he'd earned the right to lay claim to her in this small way after all that they had been through.

  
“A pleasure to make your acquaintances.” Melody said amiably.

  
There was a moment of astounded silence as the three women absorbed the fact that the missing queen of Ferelden was currently sitting before them, smiling as though it were perfectly natural for her to be there, as though her husband hadn't been begging Autumn to use her reach across Thedas to try and find her. Josephine's eyes had widened so much Autumn was afraid they might pop right out of her head, her complexion paling slightly in what Autumn could only assume was mounting horror over the lack of decorum surrounding the situation. Autumn managed to snap out of her shock when she noticed how increasingly uncomfortable Melody was starting to look, fidgeting in her chair slightly as she waited for a response. Gathering her thoughts again Autumn took a step forward, reaching across the table to hold out her hand.

  
“It's an honor, your majesty.” she said. Melody gave her a grateful smile before taking her hand and shaking it with firm enthusiasm.

  
“The honor is mine, Inquisitor.”

  
“Please, call me Autumn.”

  
“Only if you promise to call me Melody.” she rejoined, without missing a beat.

  
Autumn felt herself liking the queen more and more as her face split into a broad grin. “Deal.”

  
“Your Majesty, I apologize for the lack of reception!” Josephine squeaked, setting her things on the table finally only to wring her hands. “Had I known of your arrival I could have -”

  
“Ambassador, please, my reception has been fine. Well, aside form your soldiers trying to kill me, but Cullen here came to my rescue so no harm, no foul.” Melody waved her hand to dispel the apologies. Her comment, however, sent Josephine into a dither.

  
“ _We attacked you_? I'm so sorry, your majesty, I can't imagine what had gotten into them -”

  
“No, no! It was my fault, I wouldn't introduce myself and I strolled up asking after Leliana and they got spooked.” she was waving her hands frantically now, trying to control the damage her flippant comment had caused.

  
“Josie, breathe. If she were offended I'm sure she would have already made it well known.” Autumn thumped her diplomat on the back reassuringly, trying not to laugh at her over eager response to the situation.

  
“Right! I'm not offended! Impressed, actually! Your soldiers have courage. Your guard was ready to face me and my two fearsome, idiot dogs all by their lonesome in order to protect your people. That's admirable.” Melody nodded emphatically.

  
“Commander Cullen has trained them to be above and beyond what one could expect of any ordinary force, your majesty. Any admiration for our forces should be directed towards him.” Vivienne said coolly, changing the subject effortlessly and smiling as Cullen turned a deep red.

  
“I'm not...it's the cause. I could do nothing without the inspiration of the Inquisitor and what she has accomplished.” he raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck.

  
“Hush my dear, accept praise when it is due.” Vivienne admonished him.

  
Melody gave him a doting smile, a softness in her expression that surprised Autumn. “Cullen, it's wonderful what you've done here.”

  
“Thank you, your majesty.” he mumbled.

  
“Okay, _you_ definitely don't get to call me 'your majesty', you knew me from _way_ before I was queen.” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “The rest of you, please, everyone, call me Melody. I'm not here on behalf of Ferelden...not technically anyways. I'm here...well, I suppose that does bring me to why I _am_ here.” Melody held up the finger that had been aimed at Cullen, forestalling any further conversation as she reached into the pack at her feet, rummaging through its contents until she pulled out a leather binder, wrapped carefully with a silken ribbon. She untied the knot on the wrap carefully, opening the binder with a mindful yet practiced ease, pulling out a stack of papers. Some of the papers looked positively ancient, one hasty movement away from crumbling into a pile of worthless dust, but others were newer, a variety of different handwriting scrawled across their surfaces. Melody laid them all out on the war table, arranging them into piles for them to look at. “This was a little gift I received from a friend of mine some years ago. She was good enough to translate the original texts for me, which is what's on a lot of the newer pages, as well as some notes of my own, and a little help I got from an archivist in Tevinter. You should all probably read through it before I explain any further.”

  
Autumn flipped through the pages in the first stack, careful to handle the delicate parchments gingerly, awestruck at the strange markings drawn there, faded but legible, albeit impossible for her to read. She could smell the must of hundreds of years wafting off the pages, the same ashy aroma she often found in the ancient elven crypts and ruins she'd explored for the Inquisition. She set them aside, moving to the translated portions, her brow furrowing with concern at the contents as she pondered what this new information meant.

 

_fragments from the journal of an unknown individual_ (written in another set of handwriting on the side) _Carinus?_

_I have awoken to find the world torn asunder._  
_We were tricked. Sethius was tricked. Our gods have fallen silent, punished for their folly and the sin we have brought to the world. I know not what befell my brothers and sisters, but I alone remain to see what we have done, a monster left in the ashes of our pride._

 

_The creatures unleashed upon the prisons of the gods obey the will of Dumat, corrupted and mad in his escape. If Sethius is with him, I have seen no sign of this._  
_When it is quiet, and if I am listening, I can still here Razikale's call, nothing more of it left than a sleepy song without words._

 

_I am of them. Somehow I have been transformed, cursed in some way I do not yet understand. The creatures that churn beneath the dwarven kingdoms do not attack me, as they do others. I am kin to them in some way, though I shudder to consider it. I can only assume my brothers and sisters have met with a similar fate, but I cannot confirm this, for there are no traces of them._

_The blood of the creatures is most foul. My blood is most foul. It poisons the skin of those it touches, corrupts their veins until they serve Dumat blindly, though I myself am immune to this effect. The ground is scorched with wicked sin wherever it splashes. If I cannot find a solution the world will fall._

_The blood is the key. Nakiri's idea was sound, all evidence points to success. Dumat should not be able to survive the transfer once the ritual has been performed._

 

_We lost many procuring the sample. Dumat has retreated for now, but I fear we have little time. The mages that are left prepare the mixture as I write this. I would pray, but there are no gods that would heed my words._

 

_Fragment of a journal found in an ancient Grey Warden crypt, identity unknown_

_Carinus has done enough experiments for us to know this is the only way. We will set out to steal the blood of the archdemon tomorrow. We will lose many of our number, but we are all sworn to this cause now. I pray that what we have done will be enough._

 

_Carinus is gone, left us just as mysteriously as he had arrived. Nakiri has hidden his works from us_ ( there is a large untranslatable portion due to the age of the document rendering it illegible) _lost the cure._

 

(untranslatable word) _lyrium was they key. We need the texts to complete the formula. We won't live long enough to find them. Nakiri has ensured that much. We have failed._

 

_Mel,_  
_Thank you again for your help. I would have helped you find the information you needed anyways, but I'm glad you took the time to retrieve the stolen book for me. I wish I knew more about you to properly thank you, but I will just have to trust you when you say it's better I don't know._  
_I won't ask where you got that page, because I'm pretty sure you wouldn't tell me if I did. I have scoured our archives and I cannot find any mention of that word, although I did find a very, very old text that briefly spoke of an alternate form of lyrium. I have never heard of such a thing, and could find no further information on the matter. I'm sorry I could not be of more help._  
_Stay out of trouble,_  
_Fabricia_

 

(notes scribbled in what Autumn surmised was Melody's own hurried handwriting)  
_Kirkwall - RED lyrium??? (unknown to lyrium miners, ask Fabricia)_

 

_Mel,_  
_Good to hear from you again, my mysterious friend. I looked into what I could find, and again found precious little information. This “red” lyrium certainly sounds like it could be what that original text had mentioned, but unfortunately I can only speculate as much. I have attached a copy of the information I found previously, but regrettably there is just nothing more available. You may get more information from those who had seen it firsthand in Kirkwall._  
_If you are researching this, please be careful. The rumors of what the substance is capable of are disconcerting, at best. I would not recommend digging too deeply into any dealings with it without professional assistance, which unfortunately I am woefully ill equipped to provide. You would need dwarven scientists of a caliber that likely don't exist to handle such an unpredictable form of lyrium._  
_Continue to stay safe,_  
_Fabricia_

(segment of text copied from a book)  
_The substance is familiar, sharing many properties with the magical ore already mined, however it seems to have been altered somehow. Our miners report seeing it appear shortly before the darkspawn would swarm the areas, and we believe there is a connection. Likely whatever caused the appearance of the creatures caused the appearance of the altered ore._

(further notes in Melody's handwriting)  
_Adamant? – Inquisition destroyed. Remnants?_  
_Griffon Wing Keep – Inquisition held – send letter? Ask Leliana_


	4. A Lot More to the Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which EXPOSITION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been trying to kill me. I hope that I made it interesting to read, I did my very best. It is SUPER long compared to my normal offerings because there is really no place to break it up, and this is unfortunately the place where all this information needs to be gone over before we can jump into the rest of the story. SO EXPOSITION FOR DAYS. I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT.

“Where did these even come from?” Cullen asked, his brow furrowed as he looked over one of the pages for the second time around. He shook his head, setting it down on the table gently. Autumn let it sit for only a moment before she scooped it back up again, reading it over for what must have been her third time, mind reeling at the implications.

  
“Do you know what this means?” She asked them. Her eyes were wide, her breath catching in her chest as she tried to mull over what these journals were bringing to light. “I mean, these make it sound like..” she trailed off, swallowing thickly.

  
“Like one of the seven magisters that caused the blight also founded the grey wardens?” Melody finished for her. She raised an elegant brow, meeting Autumn's eyes with a small nod of her head. “Quite the interesting bit of information, I know.”

  
“Are you sure they're authentic? There's not a chance someone just...made it up?” Cullen's scowl was the same one that usually sent his troops running in the other direction. He held his shoulders back, as though braced obstinately against the ludicrous idea.

  
“You can _see_ the ancient copies, Commander. You tell _me_ how authentic they look.” Melody shrugged. She seemed amused at his reaction, leaning back in the chair languidly like a cat stretched out in a particularly warm sunbeam.

  
“Yeah, but what about your translator? How reliable were they? You sure somebody didn't feed you some story to get you out of Ferelden for awhile?” Varric asked her evenly.

  
Melody shook her head. “I trust the person who gave these to me with my life. _Have_ trusted her with my life, in fact. Several times. She wouldn't have given them to me lightly, and she certainly wouldn't have passed the information along if she wasn't sure about it. If she believes these are legitimate, then I believe her.” She tilted her head to the side, her ponytail tipping and sending her wavy hair tumbling over her shoulder. “Plus if it was a ruse to get me out of Ferelden you would think whoever set me up would have made a move by now.”

  
“Excellent point, your highness.” Varric gave her a salacious wink as she shot him a deep frown.

  
“I presume the part that is most interesting to you, queen Melody, is the mention of a cure?” Vivienne interjected.

  
The room fell silent all over again as Melody nodded her head. She tucked a few stray locks of hair behind her ears before she brought her hands together, folding them on the table in front of her. She stared determinedly at her fingers as she spoke. “When I became a grey warden I was ready to die for the cause, ready to sacrifice myself to end the blight, because I knew it needed to be stopped. There was no other option, and I was proud to be able to serve, and lead my friends to do whatever we could to save as many people as we could.” the knuckles on her hands had grown white with tension, her fingernails digging into her skin. “As soon as the archdemon was dead, however, I – we – began to wonder if there was a way to reverse the taint in our blood.” She looked up, her expression resolute. “How much do you know about the wardens?”

  
Autumn gave her a wry smile. “I unfortunately know very little about the organization, despite technically commanding the remaining wardens in Orlais. Those that I have met seem very reticent to sharing information, despite their fealty to the Inquisition.”

  
Melody rolled her eyes, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “That secrecy doesn't end even when you become a warden. I've been met with a frustrating lack of cooperation from the strongholds I visited. I understand your knowledge might be limited, but what _do_ you know?”

  
Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck agitatedly. “We know that wardens were being controlled by Corypheus. Could this be the reason? Because they were founded by one of them?”

  
“Perhaps. It may just be a side effect of the taint itself, or maybe it was something this Carinus engineered on purpose.” she paused briefly, collecting herself. “Do you know what we go through in order to join the grey wardens?”

  
Autumn lifted her hand and counted off the facts as she listed them. “I know it has something to do with the taint. I know that whatever happens, it eventually causes the calling. I know you need a warden to kill and archdemon, but I don't know why. I know that Corypheus could control them, and that nightmare demons can mimic the calling when pressed.” she thought for a moment, searching her brain for any other information she had gleaned. Unsurprisingly she was coming up empty, since most of her information came from a “warden” that had never actually been one, although he surely must have undergone the joining at this point, since he had left for Weisshaupt himself some time ago. “That is, essentially, the extent of my knowledge.” she concluded.

  
“So, the things I'm going to share with you can't leave this room. I'd likely be arrested by the order if they knew I was giving this information away, so I need to know I can trust you all to never share this. With anyone. Ever.” Melody glanced around the room, making sure to meet the eyes of everyone present. Her seriousness was slightly disturbing, and Autumn had a sinking feeling she was not going to like whatever she was about to hear.

  
Vivienne cleared her throat dramatically. “You can trust our discretion on this matter completely, your majesty.”

  
Autumn leaned over the table, placing her hands flat over the map as she held Melody's gaze. “You have my word, nothing you say will leave this room, unless you want it to. You can trust anyone in the Inquisition, I swear it.”

  
Melody nodded, accepting the pledge with quiet dignity. “Joining the wardens involves drinking a concoction of darkspawn and archdemon blood. Few people even survive it, and the ones that do are forever connected to the darkspawn, the archdemons, and anyone else with tainted blood. We can sense it, crawling under our skin and keening at the edges of our minds...and when there's a blight we dream about the archdemon and its strange call. We are part of the cycle of the blights as much as we are their foil.”

  
Cullen shifted, moving back to lean heavily against the wall as though struck by some invisible force. “Maker's breath, no wonder you don't tell people about it.”

  
Melody gave him a smile that bordered on being a grimace. “I'm not kidding about that, either. Duncan killed a recruit at my joining because he refused to drink after he watched another man die. He was sacrificed to protect the secrecy of the order.” Her eyes clouded over slightly, and Autumn watched her sink into painful memory, the scars of what she went through still lurking in her mind, fresh enough to surface when she let them. Autumn could relate.

  
Varric scratched the stubble on his chin, the raspy scrape punctuating his words. “Makes sense. It wouldn't look nearly as appealing if people knew it could get them killed so easily. Not to mention drinking darkspawn blood sounds like a fucking terrible idea.”

  
Melody let out a small laugh that held no joy. “Which brings me to my next revelation: the reason we have to follow through with such a 'fucking terrible idea'.” the curse sounded utterly profane falling from her mouth, as though her lips were unpracticed with the word. She paused for a beat before plunging ahead. “Whenever an archdemon dies, the soul of the old god within it transfers to the nearest tainted creature.”

  
“Isn't that what Corypheus did?” Josephine piped in. Autumn hadn't realized she had been taking notes until the scratching of her pen ceased when she looked up to speak. The silence rang oddly in her ears.

  
Melody gaped at her, a mix of shock and horror. “He had that ability too?”

  
Autumn nodded gravely. “He did.”

  
“How did you kill him then?” Melody picked nervously at the tip of her ponytail cascading down her shoulder.

  
“We had the help of a very talented mage, who devised a way to interrupt the power by killing the false archdemon he kept as a pet.” Autumn shrugged, wishing she had a more detailed explanation. Morrigan had taken any further knowledge about what had happened with her, along with whatever insight she gained from the Well. Autumn held no hard feelings about it, but sometimes she found herself wondering how TWO of her most knowledgeable allies had slipped away so easily.

  
Vivienne lifted a manicured brow as she looked to Melody. “Were you not associates with Lady Morrigan, your majesty?”

  
“Morrigan?! She was here?” Melody gasped. She let her hair drop from her hands and brought one of them to the base of her throat, where she let it hover, as though her fingertips were holding in the barrage of questions that could be seen swimming in her eyes.

  
Josephine gave a slight nod. “She stayed with us for a time until we defeated Corypheus, yes. She disappeared shortly after this was accomplished, although she had informed the Inquisitor she would be doing so well in advance.”

  
“I can't believe I missed her...did she...no, it's not important.” Melody's voice shook and she bit her lip, blinking rapidly.

  
Vivienne gave her a kind smile. “If you like I could attempt to have my people locate her.”

  
Melody shook her head, hair swinging with the vehemence of the motion. “No, no. It's enough to know she's still safe. I would like to talk about her, if possible, but at another time.” a small smile sprouted across her face, and a little of the humor returned to her eyes. “Although you might be reassured to know _she_ was the one that gave me these texts.”

  
Josephine let out a small snort of amusement. “That certainly puts more weight into their authenticity. I've never met anyone who knew more about ancient history, besides perhaps Solas.”

  
Autumn dipped her gaze to the floor, blinking quickly to cover her reaction to the mention of her friend. It had been several months since he had gone missing, and no one had been able to track down so much as a rumor of his whereabouts. At first she had held out hope that perhaps he had merely left to mourn the loss of the foci that she had inadvertently destroyed. After more time had passed, she had fretted that perhaps he was actually _angry_ at her for the loss of the artifact. Then, as even more time spread out between them, she became consumed with the fear that something terrible had happened to him, that he was out there somewhere and needed her help. If it weren't for the fact she had seen him alive with her own eyes after the battle, albeit only for a moment, she would have gone searching in the rubble for his body a long time ago. As it stood, all she could do was have Vivienne continue to search while she carried on with Inquisition business and missed him. It hurt that he hadn't even said goodbye. She felt his absence every day, like he had left behind a ghost to follow her around and remind her of his quiet confidence in her, as reassuring as it was heartbreaking. It wasn't enough, wasn't nearly as good as being able to talk to him like she used to, and she wished that she at least had an explanation for why he wasn't there.

  
Melody cleared her throat softly, pointedly moving the conversation on after she noticed the hush that had settled over the room. “In any case, I'm glad you worked with her, and I'm glad she was able to help you stop Corypheus. It's disconcerting that he had that kind of power.”

  
Cullen snorted disdainfully. “I would wager it isn't a coincidence. If magisters and achdemons both have the ability to transfer their life force like that...it certainly lends further credence to the legend of how the blights were brought to the world. They could very well be connected.”

  
“Legends must be based in truth at some point, Commander.” Vivienne crossed her arms, a small crease forming across her forehead as she glared at the table.

  
“We already knew a good bit of it had to be true. Whether or not the Maker was really in the fade when the magisters went there the first time is hard to say, but they clearly got in and made _something_ happen.” Autumn rubbed her palms across her thighs in agitation. The more she learned about ancient history the less she liked of it. Whatever had happened all those years ago had changed the world forever, and everyday it seemed more and more like the people left in it's wake weren't done paying for the sins of their ancestors.

  
Melody wrinkled her nose. “I have a feeling there's a lot more to the story than what the chantry teaches, that's for sure.”

  
“So, if _we_ defeated Corypheus without a warden, why are wardens required to kill real archdemons?” Autumn massaged her temple lightly, trying to ease the tension headache starting to form there.

  
“Well, basically, when a warden defeats the archdemon the old god soul transfers into the warden instead of one of the soul-less darkspawn. The two souls colliding together in one vessel ultimately destroys them both. So a warden is required to forfeit their very soul in order to kill the archdemon, thus ending the blight.”

  
Cullen coughed awkwardly. “Um, forgive me if I'm missing something, but didn't both you and Alistair _survive_  your battle with the archdemon?” All the eyes in the room turned to her expectantly.

  
Melody blushed, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. “We did. And we have Morrigan to thank for that and...” she shook her head slowly. “I'm sorry, but I can't elaborate on how. It's not something that I can share, so I hope you'll forgive me for that bit of secrecy.”

  
“My my, Morrigan _has_ been busy.” Autumn raised an eyebrow, meeting Cullen's eyes to share a slightly concerned glance with one another.

  
Varric chuckled darkly. “Oh, and I'm sure _none_ of it was creepy.”

  
Melody shot the dwarf a venomous glance but didn't respond to the comment. “In any case, add the calling in with everything else and you can get an idea of just how deadly being a warden can be. It's a sacrifice, dedicating what remains of your life to a higher purpose. Which is exactly why they hide so much information from the general public. The way I always understood it, they were afraid no one would ever join if they truly knew the risks.”

  
Cullen crossed his arms in front of his chest, the metal of his gauntlets clinking against his breastplate. “Surely there would still be people that understood that it was necessary. There will always be people willing to fight for what's right.”

  
“But would there be enough? I know WE stopped the blight with just a few of us, but we were lucky. Can you imagine if we had failed? If there had been no wardens left in Ferelden?” Melody's voice was heated, her eyes flashing dangerously. “How many lives would have been lost before the Orlesian faction could be mobilized? I can't say I approve of hiding the truth, but I can certainly understand the decision. We'd be lost without the wardens, and at least this way they'll never truly be wiped out. I think that's a warden's biggest fear, that we'll all fall somehow and the world would be left defenseless without us.”

  
“We've all seen exactly what that sort of fear can cause.” Vivienne scoffed.

  
Autumn clenched her hand into a fist at her side. “But if they hadn't been keeping so many secrets they never would have fallen for Erimond's trick!”

  
Cullen sighed wearily. “We don't know that. Corypheus likely would have found some other way to control them.”

  
“That's true. He didn't need a false calling to take over the wardens holding him in prison when he started sending assassins after Hawke.” Varric added.

  
Autumn let her shoulders sag. “What is it about the Wardens that they always seem to be engineering their own damn downfall?”

  
Melody shrugged. “I can't really say I disagree. I think all this secrecy is detrimental to the warden's continuation, but the wardens are an old organization so bogged down with traditions and history they can hardly see straight. Everything the wardens teach is always so set in stone, so guaranteed, that we never even thought to question it. After I read these journals, though, I started to think that maybe things weren't as immutable as we thought. Maybe succumbing to the calling wasn't the only path left to a warden. Maybe we didn't all have to die in return for our service.”

  
Autumn met her eyes, her posture straightening in a flash. “A cure. You could cure all the surviving wardens after a blight. You wouldn't need conscription anymore, wouldn't need all the secrecy...wardens that lived could actually _live_.”

  
“I hate to ruin everyone's warm fuzzy feelings, but this hardly mentions anything about it. How do we know it's even possible? Maybe this guy was just insane.” Varric gestured vaguely at the papers across the table.

  
Autumn slapped her hand across her forehead, realization hitting her like a bolt of lightning. “Because it's happened before!”

  
Melody nodded enthusiastically at her, knowing they were thinking the same thing. “Only once, as far as I know, but the previous Grand Enchanter used to be a grey warden. Then something happened and she was suddenly cured...I don't know how, but everyone knows that it occurred. So there _has_ to be a way, and I think these journals hold the first clues as to what we should be looking for. Which is what I've been doing for the past couple of years, searching for more evidence about it. The journals mention texts talking about the cure, formulas. I thought I might be able to find them, buried somewhere in the warden archives.”

  
“Did you find anything?” Cullen asked breathlessly.

  
Melody seemed to deflate somewhat. “Unfortunately no. I was able to check all of the occupied fortresses, but none of those searches turned up anything interesting. It's possible I missed something, because I was rushed through the whole process by Warden Commanders that value autonomy and secrecy more than common sense.”

  
“Wardens don't even cooperate with each other?” Josephine sputtered incredulously.

  
“Not nearly as much as they should. Most Warden Commanders prefer to think of themselves as small kings, and they get very bitter when they think someone is encroaching on their territory. In any case, I don't think I'm going to find what I'm looking for outside of Weisshaupt, because anything of worth is usually sent there and locked up tight.”

  
“So, why haven't you gone there?” Autumn asked her.

  
Melody sighed irritably. “Well, I sent them a message saying I was on my way. I got a letter in response before I got very far ordering me to return to Ferelden and refusing me access to the archives there.”

  
“Can they do that?” Cullen asked.

  
“Honestly? I have no idea.” Melody shrugged. “Apparently being queen does not carry sufficient enough influence to grant me access.”

  
“Let me guess, that's where we come in.” Varric gave her a charming smile.

  
Melody returned the expression, laughing slightly. “I was _hoping_ that after everything that happened at Adamant, and with all the power the Inquisition holds, that they wouldn't be able to refuse you access, and maybe you could go and look for what I need.”

  
Cullen rubbed the back of his neck again. “I suppose it's possible, if we provided them with a good enough reason.”

  
“We could always have Hawke look while she's there. Although I haven't heard anything form her in awhile...have you guys gotten anything from her?” Varric's face went from thoughtful to worried in the blink of an eye.

  
Vivienne tapped one of her long fingers against her cheek. “ _That is_  odd. We certainly should have had some response from her by now. Is it possible she would have gone back into hiding without informing us?” she asked Varric.

  
He shrugged and shook his head at the same time. “I suppose it's possible. Not likely, but weirder shit has happened.”

  
“Viv, can you try to contact her?” Autumn asked her.

  
Vivienne gave it a moment's thought. “I can send a bird, but I wouldn't recommend sending any agents into Weisshaupt until we've received permission.”

  
“I can begin constructing a formal request at once.” Josephine interjected, making smart little marks on her clipboard.

  
“Good, thank you. In the meantime, I think I have a couple people we should talk to.” Autumn turned around and poked her head outside the heavy door. Glancing into the corridor she saw Bryce stationed just down the hall, leaning against the stone lazily and staring out one of the windows into the clear afternoon sky. At the sound of the door he turned his head, snapping to attention and flushing slightly.

  
“My lady.” he said, giving her a salute.

  
She laughed. “You remembered not to call me 'your worship'. Ten points for you.” she gave him a wolfish grin as he blinked at her momentarily. “Could you please ask the Arcanist and the Grand Enchanter to join us? We need to see them right away.”

  
“At your order, Inquisitor.” he gave her a bow and marched off to fetch the requested people. Autumn turned back into the room, closing the door and resuming her spot standing next to the table.

  
Melody raised a brow at her, a small smile across her lips. “You have the Grand Enchanter here?”

  
“She's been with us since the rebel mages were rescued from the Tevinter magister in Redcliffe.” Cullen supplied helpfully.

  
Melody leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand and grinning broadly. “So, does this mean you're going to help?”

  
“I could hardly turn down a royal request.” Autumn wrapped one arm across her stomach and bent at the waist, bowing low as Melody snorted in reaction. “I'm not sure I'll have anymore sway than you do, but I'm damn sure willing to try.”

  
They waited only a moment longer before the door slid open and Dagna popped her head into the room, an overly bright shine in her curious eyes. “You rang, Inquisitor?”

  
“ _Dagna_?!” Melody stood up in her chair, slapping her hands on the table in the process as she shouted across the room. The mabari at her feet made small whining noises of disapproval at the sudden flurry of movement.

  
Dagna started at the exclamation and stared at the woman for a heartbeat before her eyes widened to the point Autumn feared she might have lost her eyelids altogether. “ _It's you_!” She threw open the door and rushed into the room, throwing herself at Melody. The queen happily accepted her into a warm embrace, laughter bubbling out of her as she swung the arcanist around.

  
Josephine looked at Autumn. “They know each other?”

  
Autumn laughed, nodding her head. “That's right, I had forgotten she said the hero of Ferelden was who had taken her to study at the circle when she was still learning her craft.”

  
“What in the name of Andraste's sweet toe jam are you doing here?” Melody released Dagna, letting her settle on the ground gently as she looked at her with affection.

  
“I work for the Inquisition! They hired me to handle all of their research and enchanting. Oh, you should see some of the things I've been working on! I get to do all sorts of things that should be impossible. And have you seen the anchor? It's amazing right! Also, did you know Morrigan was here? She's gone now, but I bet she would have been sad to miss you!”

  
Autumn cleared her throat loudly. “Dagna?”

  
“Oh! Sorry, Inquisitor! You needed me for something, didn't you? Is it explosions again? Because I think I have just the thing to make what happened last time look like a nug's sneeze -”

  
Autumn cleared her throat _again_ , interrupting what could certainly have been an endless tirade. “I think I have a new project for you, actually.” Reaching over the table, she grabbed the notes regarding the cure and handed it over to the dwarf. Dagna read it over, her eyes darting back and forth across the page almost too quickly to follow.

  
“They thought it would be a cure?” she asked when she had finished, her voice reflecting her skepticism.

  
“Is that possible?” Autumn asked her.

  
“I...I don't know. I suppose if you thought of lyrium as an organism capable of channeling things, maybe since regular lyrium works like a channel for magic...but red lyrium doesn't seem to work quite the same...” she trailed off, scratching the top of her head lightly, sending strands of hair tumbling out of her messy bun.

  
The door to the room opened again and Fiona entered, shutting it softly behind her. She turned to face those present and Autumn saw her bristle slightly, her back stiffening in reaction to the crowd. “Inquisitor, did you have need of me?”

  
“Yes, Grand Enchanter. Please, come in. Allow me to introduce our guest, Queen Melody Theirin.”

  
Fiona's eyes widened almost as much as Dagna's had, and she immediately prostrated herself before Melody. “Your Majesty!!”

  
Melody scowled, waving her hands hectically. “Please, please, don't bow! And call me Melody.” she gave the enchanter a amiable smile that Fiona was reluctant to return.

  
“I...um, how may I be of service, your majesty?” she said, and although she addressed Melody she looked at Autumn when she asked the question. Melody sighed heavily at the the use of her honorific again.

  
Autumn gave Fiona a reassuring pat on the shoulder, hoping to set the woman at ease. “I know you've mentioned before you didn't know much, but we wanted to talk to you about how you left the grey wardens.”

  
Fiona's eyes narrowed in suspicion, her gaze flicking from Autumn to Melody and back again. “What do you wish to know?”

  
“To be blunt, I need to know how you got rid of the taint?”

  
“Ah.” Fiona shifted her eyes away, looking resolutely at the wall behind Melody's head. “Unfortunately I do not know. I traveled through the deep roads, and when I emerged I seemed to be cured.”

  
“You're lying.” Vivienne snapped, her voice so icy Autumn thought she might have actually enchanted the words.

  
“Vivienne!” Josephine recoiled immediately, scandalized at the bare faced accusation.

  
“Don't scold me, Ambassador. That sentence barely even contained any information, and she still couldn't look anyone in the eye when she said it. What are you hiding, _Grand Enchanter_?” Vivienne crossed her arms and glared menacingly.

  
“I have already told everything I know to the wardens at Weisshaupt. Why don't you ask them?” Fiona growled, throwing her shoulders back in defiance.

  
“Why don't _you_ give us the truth, and _maybe_ I won't have you assassinated -”

  
“Vivienne!” Autumn interrupted her in her most authoritative voice. She glared at Vivienne, willing her to calm down with her own icy stare.

  
Vivienne sniffed haughtily. “Apologies, Inquisitor. It is my assessment that Fiona is not being as forthcoming as she should be. I would advise we demand proper answers before allowing her to leave.”

  
“Duly noted, Vivienne.” Autumn turned her stare to Fiona. They locked eyes and Fiona resolutely held her gaze, clenching her jaw against whatever retort was clearly on her tongue. Finally Autumn sighed, relaxing her posture. “Fiona, I'm not going to threaten you. If you really won't tell us, we can try and ask Weisshaupt for the account, but...I was hoping you might be able to enlighten us personally.” Fiona seemed to hesitate, so Autumn reached out to grasp her shoulder again. “If it wasn't important I wouldn't be asking.”

  
Fiona glanced nervously at Melody. “I...”

  
“Please. It could do a lot of people a lot of good if I knew more about what happened.” Melody pleaded, her bright green eyes filled with sincerity.

  
Fiona sighed, her shoulders tipping downward slightly. “Very well. When we were traveling through the deep roads we were wearing brooches that artificially sped up the taint within us. The wardens at Weisshaupt believed that might have had something to do with my...recovery.”

  
Dagna held up a finger, leaping into the conversation. “Why would speeding up the corruption cure you? Also, where would one get that kind of trinket? Why were you wearing them?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small notepad and a pencil, hurriedly scribbling away while she awaited Fiona's answers.

  
“We were given the amulets by the first enchanter. They were supposed to disguise us from darkspawn while we were underground. We discovered later we were lied to. There was a darkspawn that had taught the enchanter how to craft the amulets, and they were actually designed to inform that darkspawn exactly where we were at all times, in addition to speeding up our corruption.” she grimaced at the memory, a small shudder working through her.

  
Melody's face contorted into a deep scowl. “They were working with darkspawn?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Which means they were talking with them.” Melody finished, her hand clenching the side of the table roughly.

  
“Darkspawn can talk?” Josephine asked hesitantly.

  
“Corypheus could.  And did.  A lot.” Autumn reminded her flatly.

  
Cullen rubbed at his temple, his eyes closed in either concentration or pain, Autumn couldn't tell. “Could it have been Corypheus?”

  
Fiona shook her head. “It was not. He called himself the Architect.”

  
Melody slammed her fist onto the tabletop, toppling over several markers with the reverberations of the blow. “ _Ass weasels_.” she glared at her hand for a moment before she looked back up, anger simmering in her eyes. “I met the Architect. He was behind the appearance of talking darkspawn a few years back near Amaranthine. I helped him defeat one of his...experiments.   _I let him go_  because he said he was working to end blights forever.”

  
Varric's jaw dropped. “And you _bought_  that?”

  
“He was very convincing at the time.” Melody avoided meeting his eyes.

  
Fiona seemed to inflate with fury. “Did he mention his plan to do that was to infect everyone with the blight?”

  
“ _Ass.  Weasels_.” Melody ground out through clenched teeth. “I knew I should have killed him.”

  
Fiona crossed her arms indignantly. “Yes, yes you should have.”

  
“I would bet every copper I had that it wouldn't have done any good.” Varric drawled. When Cullen rolled his hand in a gesture for him to continue Varric grimaced. “Sounds to me like the chances are pretty high he could do the live forever creepy shit every other extra fucked up darkspawn out there can do.”

  
“He would have just transferred into a new body, and likely been really pissed off at you.” Autumn surmised.

  
“Hang on, hang on...so none of that explains why they thought something that sped up the taint would have cured you.” Dagna interjected, eyeing Fiona expectantly.

  
Fiona sighed, shifting her gaze away again. “They thought it might have been a combination of that and my...um...condition.”

  
“Come now, Fiona. Surely a woman capable of throwing an entire group of people into a rebellion is also capable of _getting to the point_. What _'condition'_?” Vivienne sneered.

  
Autumn glared at her spymaster. “Viv, reign it in a notch please.” she held Vivienne's gaze until she saw that she would listen, then she turned back to the ex Grand Enchanter. “Fiona, would you mind being as clear as possible?”

  
Fiona took a deep breath, and for a moment Autumn thought she might refuse to answer. Finally she closed her eyes and spoke. “I was pregnant.”

  
Melody's eyebrows shot skyward. “You conceived as a warden? With another warden? That's...well, it's damn near impossible.” her voice was somewhat bitter, although she tried to cover it with a certain degree of aloofness.

  
Fiona looked at the ceiling, shaking her head. “Maker, I am really not getting out of this am I?” she took another deep breath, keeping her eyes locked upwards. “I did not conceive with another grey warden. It was Maric.”

  
Cullen choked on his own breath. “ _King_ Maric?” he wheezed.

  
Fiona glared at him. “Do you know many others, Commander?”

  
“Alistair has a sibling?!” Melody blinked at her owlishly.

  
Fiona shifted on her feet, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes again. “Not since Cailan died.” she hedged.

  
Autumn caught the meaning behind the evasive answer and leaned heavily against the table edge, her palm seeking the solidity of the wood before she fell over. “Holy _fuck_.”

  
Melody's eyes widened as she caught up to the meaning herself, a flush running across her pale cheeks. “You're...but...she was supposed to be...”

  
“She wasn't supposed to exist. I didn't want him to know, I didn't want...” Fiona's voice broke, a shuddering breath shaking her entire chest. “I didn't want him to know his mother was elven. I didn't want him growing up in the court, I didn't want him to have the pressures of that kind of life...I _certainly_ never wanted him to be a warden, nor king.”

  
Melody stared at the woman silently for a moment before she seemed to explode. “ _Oh my Maker.  My husband is half elven.  Half mage.  The King of Ferelden is half elven half mage_.” she placed a hand on her forehead, the other gripping the table in much the same way Autumn was.

  
Autumn caught Varric's eye. “I did not see that one coming.” she said, low enough that only he would hear.

  
“You're telling me.” he muttered back. “I'll be murdered if this makes it into a book, won't I?”

  
Autumn nodded assent. “ _Violently_.”

  
“Okay, so crazy brooch plus pregnancy equals no more taint? Something about that doesn't add up.” Dagna said, oblivious to the tension of the moment as she scribbled tiny diagrams across her paper.

  
Fiona looked at her, seemingly relieved at the distraction. “They never did figure out exactly what happened. I meant it when I said I didn't really know how I got cured.”

  
Dagna chewed on the tip of her pencil. “Hm....okay, first of all, I'm going to need those amulets. Second of all, I'm going to need lyrium. Like, a lot. Probably some red lyrium too, just to be sure. Third, I think someone had better bring me Bianca Davri. If we're going to figure anything out about lyrium, we _have_ to have her input. I mean, I'm _good_ , but both of us together is _better_. Like a lot.”

  
Autumn looked to her diplomat. “Josephine?”

  
Josephine flipped a page on her clipboard, humming thoughtfully. “Two I can make happen...oh, let's say by later this afternoon? I'll write Bianca before I compose my letter to Weisshaupt. I'm certain I can have her here as soon as possible, so that takes care of three...”

  
“Can I just say I object wholeheartedly to involving her?” Varric added dejectedly.

  
Autumn smirked at him. “Your concern has been heard. Would you feel better if I have Viv watch her?”

  
“Not by much, but it's a start.” he replied.

  
“Not to worry, I would have had her watched anyways. Consider it done.” Vivienne smiled serenely.

  
Josephine bit her lip before continuing. “Yes, well as far as the amulets go...”

  
Dagna waved off her response. “Yeah, I thought that one might be shooting a little high. I will most likely need them before I can make any real headway, but I certainly have enough information to get started. Let me know if you find anything else out, I'm going to go start planning out my research now. I think if I have enough lyrium I can play with the focus of the inherent properties within...” she paused, taking in the blank stares from everyone in the room. “You know, I'll just explain it after I have some results.” the arcanist gave a polite little bow before she scurried out of the room.

  
Fiona turned to Autumn. “What exactly is all this about?”

  
Autumn grabbed the discarded notes, glancing at Melody for permission before passing them to the mage. “Here, have a look at these.”

  
Fiona read them in a rush, her eyes flying over the words quickly before widening and returning to the top to re-read them, as though she didn't register their meaning the first time. When she had finished she looked up, her expression one of complete shock. “This is...I can't believe it.”

  
“Well good, now we're all shocked senseless.” Melody mumbled irritably.

  
Cullen coughed purposefully. “I think maybe we've all had enough revelations for the day...”

  
“I'm sorry. You were never supposed to know. _No one_ was ever supposed to know.” Fiona sighed again, sadness in her eyes that seemed to break through Melody's ire.

  
“You know I have to tell him, right?” she replied.

  
Fiona nodded. “I thought as much. Will he...do you think...that is...would he be angry?”

  
The last of the queen's irritation evaporated then, and she gave the mage a warm smile. “I can't speak for him, but I've never known him to hold a grudge without good cause. I'm sure if you talked to him...” she trailed off, unable to find words. Fiona nodded to her gratefully, tears shining brightly at the edges of her eyes.

  
“Fiona, I think it might be a good idea for you to work with Dagna on this, since you have experience with wardens and the taint. Would you mind joining her?” Autumn asked her softly, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently guiding her towards the door.

  
“Of course, Inquisitor. I will do what I can.” She gave a stiff bow to the others in the room. “Good day, everyone.”

  
Josephine finished what she had been writing with a flourish, looking to those left in the room. “Right, if there are no further issues, I should begin composing those letters now.”

  
Autumn nodded wearily. “I think we've all about finished for today.” she turned towards the queen, giving her a wry smile. “Melody, how would you like a drink?”

  
“The strongest thing you have, please.” she replied, walking towards Autumn with a smile that didn't seem to spread beyond her mouth.

  
Varric chuckled. “Careful what you wish for, we have Qunari spirits.”

  
“It can't be worse than dwarven brandy.” Melody quipped as they all left the war room, headed to the tavern to drink away some of the heavy memories the meeting had invoked.


	5. Stabbity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which old friends have a small chat.

Her feet pounded the snow into the ground, slipping as they came in contact with the frozen dirt beneath, as solid as stone and as unyielding as forged steel. Every breath she pulled into her lungs felt like fire, laced with the undercurrents of the ice in the air that ripped at the edges of her throat, rubbing her raw, every new ragged inhalation another level of agony. Her legs shook dangerously, muscles screaming at her for rest even as she willed them to continue, pushing herself so much farther past the brink of exhaustion than she had ever been before. The moon bathed them in a calm, serene light that belied the frantic flight away from their pursuers.

  
Her foot connected with the ground, but instead of the flat surface she expected she found an unseen root, buried in layers of innocent white powder to ambush the unwary. Her foot caught and she felt her ankle wrench sharply to the side as her momentum carried her into the air. For a moment she felt as though she had taken flight, her body simply opting to leave the solidity of reality behind and sail away into the stars where their hunters could not follow. Then she was slamming into the ground with such force she lost her vision, everything turning into bursts of indescribable colors that mingled in the inky darkness behind her eyes. Her elbow cracked painfully into a rock, the reverberation of the impact shaking through her bones. She grit her teeth against the scream that threatened to boil out, knowing she had fractured something with that fall. She struggled to right herself, trying to breathe and rise at the same time only to sway precariously at even the merest shift in her body. She felt dirt and frozen leaves clinging to her hair, her already sweat soaked skin picking up even more grime as she floundered.

  
She was grabbed roughly, yanked to her feet and dragged into long, toned arms. A hand with slender fingers clamped over her mouth, stifling her startled cry and filling her nose with the scent of parchment, earthy herbs, and the lingering essence of magic that tingled the same way a strong dose of mint might. She closed her eyes, leaning into the chest of her savior, drinking in the way he smelled in an effort to calm her racing pulse and ignore the pain lancing through her arm.

  
“Alright?” Anders asked her, his voice directly in her ear and so low she had to strain to hear him. She responded the only way she could, nodding infinitesimally. She tilted her head to the side, meeting his eyes, and within the warm chocolate she saw everything she felt within herself; fatigue, fear, pain, love. He gave her a grim smile and kissed her earlobe, holding her tighter as the sounds of the group on their trail loudly careened through the forest almost directly on the other side of the tree they hid behind.

  
Lilly sucked in her breath, holding it there and willing the men to move on, praying to a Maker she wasn't sure she believed in that the cloaking spell over Anders was working, and that they would lose the trail again, giving them time to recover. She heard their leader swear, something violent and savage that send a stab of fear into her heart.

  
“Where did they go?” the man growled. His voice was ragged from running, and she heard the whistle of his weapon swinging through the air before it embedded into the wood of some unfortunate tree. One of his men called something, too far away for Lilly to make out the words. She heard the leader spit, his saliva slapping against the snow wetly. “Follow Marcus.” he snapped, and they heard the troop of men march off in the opposite direction of the huddled prey.

  
They spent what felt like an eternity pressed against the bark of the tall evergreen, Lilly's breath slowly working its way back into a normal rhythm. The adrenaline in her system calmed, step by step, until the pain in her arm started to grow unbearable. Finally, blessedly, Anders deemed the other men far enough away that it was safe, and he moved them away from the tree. She didn't even have to ask before he had gently taken her arm in his hand, the familiar flow of magic coursing through the damaged limb.

  
“How far are we?” she asked him, wincing as he bent the freshly mended elbow.

  
He looked up at the sky, gauging their distance by the closeness of the stars. “We're pretty high up now, I think. We must be getting close.” he let out a puff of air, strands of his fair blonde hair scattering from his face to dance in the light breeze. “Are you alright?”

  
“Fine.” she replied, even as her stomach gave another lurch in protest to the statement. They'd lost their packs a few days ago, caught by surprise when the men had found them unexpectedly. She hadn't eaten or slept in at least three days, possibly longer, and the strain on her body was beginning to make death seem like a more merciful idea by the hour.

  
Anders placed his hands on either side of her head, pulling her forehead to his lips. She closed her eyes and let the touch brace her, let it fill her with hope that she wasn't able to find in herself. “Hang in there, love. We'll make it.” he promised.

  
They moved onward as quickly as they could, a strong wind picking up at their backs, bringing dark clouds over the horizon to blot out the crystal sky. A storm was coming, and Lilly hoped it wouldn't swallow them in its wake.

 

***

 

The fog swirled around the harbor, muffling the sound of the bell ringing in their arrival as the people on the ship slowly started to disembark. Zevran hopped smoothly off the gangplank, his legs settling to the motionless ground beneath them easily as he turned, holding his hand out to Lessa to assist her. She ignored the offer, sneering slightly as she dismounted just as effortlessly. The moonlight filtering through the haze picked up on the silver tattoos etched across her darkly tanned face, the curving tendrils of Falon'din's vallaslin shining eerily around eyes whose color was nearly swallowed by too large pupils. Slits of light blue and lavender danced around the murky center, the black coal smeared across her eyelids making the lighter colors stand out starkly. Her lips, tattooed a deep blue permanently, pulled back across her teeth, slightly feral and pointed.

  
“Does this city of the shemlen have you feeling gallant, Zevran?” her low, rich voice drifted lazily in the air. She gave him a small shake of her head before she pulled her hood up over her pointed ears and wavy hair, which was long and as silver as the moonlight that bathed it. Utharevas, her large pet owl, screeched irritably at the movement, its depthless eyes turning to glare at Zevran as though he were the cause of the disturbance. Lessa absently reached a hand up to pet his tawny feathers, grey and amber speckled over the underlying white that matched his keeper's hair so well. He chittered, clicking his beak in response before closing his eyes to slits in contentment, leaving his face a smooth, uninterrupted sea of pale down.

  
“Just standard courtesy. The dalish still know of the practice, yes?” he retorted, ignoring her chuckle and turning away to leave the boarding area. She followed, her long navy robes brushing softly against the ground, her ironbark staff tapping sharply ever other step. The carved bird's claw at its tip seemed twisted in the night hours, the crystal in its clutches ominously dark, almost innocent. Zevran knew better, however. He had seen her use the weapon, seen the bright blue of her magic swirling within before she planted nightmares within the minds of men that set them trembling helplessly at her knees.

  
They made their way through the winding pathways of the docks, the massive harbor swallowing the pair easily as they worked their way to the paved shore. His leather boots, worn thin from years of diligent service, made no sound as they came in contact with the ground. His armor made only the barest whisper of noise, a lifetime of sneaking teaching him how to move silently even encased in layers of metal and dark leather. He spotted their welcome party, a man dressed in his own heavy cloak, standing looking out on the water, waiting for them to finish their approach.

  
Zevran smiled warmly when he was close enough to see the warm, amber eyes within the shadows of the hood. “The cloaked look does not suit you, my friend. All of that chantry boy charm is completely lost, such a shame.”

  
“ _You_ were the one who refused to be brought into the castle. You want chantry boy charm, you shouldn't make me slink around in the middle of the night unguarded.” he laughed before he held out his hand. Zevran took it, shaking it firmly before he was pulled unexpectedly into a tight embrace, his friends arms nearly crushing him against him. “It's good to see you, Zev.”

  
“You as well, Alistair. Now let me go before you smash my delicate elven lungs.” he wheezed.

  
Alistair released him, grinning with the same impossibly boyish exuberance he had always possessed, although there were shadows in his eyes that seemed more prominent than they had before. “Nothing about you is _delicate_ , Zev. You can't fool me!” his eyes darted to Lessa, and Zevran didn't miss the nearly imperceptible narrow there as he noticed her staff.

  
“Allow me to introduce my...traveling companion, Lessa.” Zevran said evenly.

  
Alistair held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady. My name is-”

  
“I know who you are, golden boy.” she interrupted him coolly. She glanced at his extended arm, her unusual eyes flicking down and then straight back up to peer at his face. She made no move to take the hand, merely standing there regarding him with the same aloofness she held for nearly every person Zevran had ever seen her interact with.

  
“Er, right then. You always seem to make the nicest friends, Zev.” Alistair smirked, letting his hand drop back to his side.

  
“What can I say, it is a gift.” he shrugged, tossing his head back with a gusty sigh. “Come, let us get out of this cursed fog. I have a need for a drink, preferably in a chair that doesn't sway.” he clapped Alistair on the back, guiding him forward towards the tavern that was close by.

  
Alistair laughed easily. “Not a fan of the sea, then? Can't say I blame you. Try traveling by pirate ship. You can't even get anything decent to eat, all they seem to carry is this vile rum that could double as wood polish, if they had a mind for such a thing.” he shuddered, a grimace passing over his face as he remembered the taste.

  
“The _sea_ is fine, it is the movement of the boat that is unpleasant. A man cannot maintain a proper swagger when he is competing with the floor beneath his feet.” he scowled, his irritation rising all over again at having been crammed in the boat for far longer than he would have liked.

  
“I thought sailors were known for their swagger? Besides, aren't you Antivan? Didn't they practically invent boats?”

  
“Perhaps all that time I spent in Ferelden poisoned me and my fine Antivan breeding.” Zevran grinned, letting his eyes pass over Alistair while the man laughed heartily. He looked good, although he was paler than he remembered, and there were dark circles under his eyes that never used to be there. He would wager a guess that the king slept little, probably due in no small part to the absence of his queen.

  
Alistair pushed open the tavern door, the hinges screaming in protest as the near ancient metal moved. The building was a dilapidated mess, a mix of random boards of wood cobbled together in the passable shape of a building. The large interior was lit with lanterns, the oily fires burning within producing a heavy smoke that seemed to settle on the surface of his skin as they walked to a table. The floorboards creaked under the weight of the group, their uneven surface nearly tripping Alistair as his boot caught the edge of the warped wood. Lessa settled into the table first, Utharevas ruffling his wings at the sudden descent. She folded her robes neatly, leaning her staff next to her chair before pulling a book out of her bag, flipping to a page and promptly ignoring the men she accompanied. Alistair took a seat as well, raising a questioning eyebrow in his direction. Zevran could only shrug and shake his head. Lessa was not a sociable creature, but she was handy in a fight and had gotten him out of more than one difficult situation, so he could tolerate her less than loquacious demeanor.

  
They sat in silence for awhile, grinning like fools until the server had slammed their drinks onto the table, the ale slopping out of the mismatched mugs. Alistair gave her a cheery word of thanks, to which she responded with an irritated grunt, making the pair laugh silently.

  
Alistair brought his drink to his mouth, sipping gingerly and coating his upper lip with foam. He sighed after he swallowed, smirking. “Ah, ale that tastes like piss, a bar that could probably give you blood poisoning if you stepped on a nail...brings back memories.” he swiped his hand across his mouth, his eyes sparkling joyfully.

  
“Perhaps you should take a vacation. There are several cities in the 'Marches that have delightfully seedy underbellies. Some of the bars there serve _actual_ piss.” Zevran told him before he drained half his drink in one swig. It was light, watered down to the point of being nearly tasteless, but it was the drink at a journey's end, and that made it as sweet as any honeyed mead as far as he was concerned.

  
“Hm, maybe we could wake up another archdemon, get the whole gang back together. It would be like a reunion tour!”

  
He considered making a joke about Morrigan, asking if Alistair would sleep with her again to create another heathen child to save them all, but the jest died before it reached the tip of his tongue. There were some things that weren't designed to be made light of, and if Melody found out he was teasing about him about it she might run a dagger through his liver. He was technically not supposed to know about it at all, but Melody had confided in each of them at one point or another. It was no secret amongst their little family, but that didn't make it any easier to talk about with anyone but her. “It would be good to see everyone again. Although I confess I would enjoy it much more if there were considerably less darkspawn involved this time.” he said instead.

  
“Yes, darkspawn ruin all the best parties.” Alistair grimaced. “So what brings you back to our neck of the woods, anyhow?”

  
He shrugged. “I grew tired of Marchers trying to kill me. Thought Fereldens might at least offer more of a challenge.”

  
Alistair snorted his amusement. “And you're very friendly associate agrees, I suppose?”

  
Lessa's eyes shifted over the top of her book, glaring at Alistair spitefully. Utharevas puffed his feathers, as though he knew his mistress was being addressed, clicking his beak forbiddingly. “I travel with Zevran because he owes me, and one of these days I will require he pay that debt.”

  
“Owes you?” Alistair blinked at her.

  
“She saved me from a sticky situation with a nobleman from Ostwick who did not take kindly to my... _association_ with his daughter.” Zevran explained. In truth the event had been far closer to ending him than he would ever admit to. He'd been camping in the woods near Markham when the Bann's men had found him. He'd taken quite a beating, having been caught off guard. The Bann apparently blamed him for corrupting his daughter beyond recognition. Then, as if she had melted out of the very shadows, Lessa had appeared, the azure light on her staff illuminating the faces of the men trying to kill Zevran, their expressions contorting in terror as tendrils of purple haze drifted above their heads. The Bann had mounted his horse and fled, leaving his men behind to die of fright, clutching at their chests as their hearts gave out. Then the mysterious mage had tended to his wounds, telling him that he now owed her a debt, one that she intended to have him repay only when the time was right. He agreed to allow her to travel with him until such time as she had need of his services, and while he had originally been unhappy about the arrangement, he had to admit she fought well whenever they found themselves in trouble, and never once had she shown any indication that she might betray him or bring him harm.

  
“I'm sure he was _totally_ overreacting, and your 'association' was completely respectable?” Alistair winked at him, his grin wide enough to raise his cheeks and crinkle the edges around his eyes.

  
Zevran laughed, shaking his head. “The day I have a respectable association is the day I have died, my friend.”

  
“So, then, Lessa...you just follow him around for fun, waiting until you need him for something?” Alistair covered the curiosity in his gaze with another sip of his drink, eyeing her critically.

  
Lessa let out an overt sigh, fixing him with a glare intense enough to make the king fidget slightly in his seat. “I am looking for something. No, I won't tell you, yes I'm an apostate, yes I was dalish, no I won't talk about my clan, and no you cannot pet the owl. Does that about cover all the questions you had, golden boy?” she held his gaze for a moment longer before turning her attention back to her book, flipping the page pointedly.

  
“Oh look, another Morrigan. The world _definitely_ needed more.” Alistair grumbled bitterly.

  
“At least she hasn't called you stupid.” Zevran gave him a reassuring smile.

  
“Give me time, I'm sure I'll get to it.” she added, not looking up from her book.

  
“Speaking of Morrigan...” Zevran continued before she antagonized his friend further.

  
“Let's not.” Alistair groaned.

  
“Have you heard from her? Or anyone else for that matter? I corresponded with Leliana not all that long ago, you know.”

  
Alistair brightened somewhat. “Yes, I exchanged a few letters with her as well, when she was working with the Inquisition. Met their Inquisitor...although I don't think she was called that at the time. You would have liked her, by the way, sense of humor right up your alley.”

  
“You met Autumn? I must confess, I've known her for a long time, before she got involved in that whole ruling half of Thedas business.”

  
“She doesn't _rule_ anything...” Alistair started to whine, but when he caught Zevran's devious expression he smirked. “Haha, very funny. Anyways, I sent letters back and forth a few times with Leliana, and I _sent_ a letter to Morrigan, when she was working with them, but I never got a response, so I can only assume she set it on fire. I haven't heard a thing from Oghren or Shale in ages, though.”

  
Zevran nodded sagely. “Leliana is divine now, yes? Are we supposed to call her Victoria now?”

  
“Yes, but I will never be able to keep up with that in private. It's a good thing she isn't hung up on the title.” he replied. “Oh, and you've heard Sten is the Arishok now?”

  
“I had. He should make a more suitable leader than the madman that ran himself into the Champion's knife in Kirkwall.”

  
“Well he's less full of holes, although he's a lot more punchy than I remembered.” Alistair leaned forward, lowering his voice considerably. “So, are you sure you don't want to come stay at the castle? I've already got two other crazy elves running around, it wouldn't frighten the staff too much to add two more.”

  
Zevran shook his head, waving off the man's offer. “No, I do not wish to be a burden. Besides, from what I recall the guards are entirely too interested in where the people of the castle go when they are not in the castle. I do not wish to be babysat again, my friend.”

  
“Fair enough, but you're welcome to change your mind anytime.”

  
“I appreciate it.” Zevran paused, bracing himself for the darkness that would overtake his friend after his next question. “Have you heard from her?”

  
Just as he had suspected, Alistair's mood plummeted, the shadows in his eyes becoming obvious after a single blink. He frowned, looking intently at the wooden tabletop rather than meeting his eyes. “No. Not for some time, at least.”

  
“I'm worried for her. The things I have heard of the wardens lately...that mess with the Inquisition.” he shook his head, unable to articulate just how scared he was that something would happen to their beloved rogue.

  
Alistair gave him a smile that did nothing to dispel the sadness in his eyes. “I worry for her every second of every day. I've been harassing the Inquisitor to try and find her ever since they stopped that crazy darkspawn, but either she hasn't gotten around to it or I've annoyed her so much she's just ignoring me now.”

  
“I'm sure the Inquisitor will help whenever she is able. She was always a people person, if I remember correctly.” Zevran gripped his shoulder across the table, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “And perhaps if she doesn't, I can go looking for her on my own. Surely she would not be able to resist being found by her favorite assassin?”

  
The smile on the king's face was warmer and more genuine this time as he stood up. “If I thought it would work I'd let you chase after her in a heartbeat.” He tossed a gold piece down on the cracked wooden tabletop before he pulled the cloak back up over his head, hiding his face from view once more. “I have to be getting back before Eamon sends out the mabari to sniff me out. If you want to chat, come to the castle and tell the guards the code word 'stabbity dance'. They already know to let you in if they hear it.”

  
Zevran quirked his eyebrow at him. “'Stabbity dance'?”

  
“You know, for that thing you do with the dual blades. Like a dance, but with a lot more stabbing.” he grinned, waving goodbye as he turned and left the tavern.

  
Zevran shifted in his seat so he was facing Lessa, who smiled without looking away from the words on the page. “So we'll be staying in Denerim for awhile?” she asked.

  
“Most likely. It has been some time since I was back here, and I would like to hang around to make sure Alistair is okay. He does not do well with Melody gone.” Zevran shrugged nonchalantly, hoping she wasn't going to argue the issue.

  
“Very well, my _stabbity_ friend. If I find a lead, however, we will have to move on.” she said, and the owl on her shoulder tittered in agreement.

  
Zevran finished his drink and ordered another one, hoping that “Stabbity” was not the nickname that would end up following him to his grave.


	6. Look Anders, no Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders and Lilly arrive at their destination.

The rain made loud, incessant plinking sounds against the top of his helmet, the icy cold water slipping down the curve of the metal to dip under the collar of his uniform. Bryce shivered, teeth threatening to clatter together as he hurried across the courtyard. He was off duty, finally, and had a desperate need to drive the cold out of his bones with a stout drink. The tavern would be packed at this time of night, especially with the weather being so inclement, and we was looking forward to possibly getting in on a game of cards or two, perhaps he'd even catch a story from Varric or Bull if he was lucky.

  
Thunder rumbled angrily in the sky seconds before lightning lit up the clouds, dark blackness transforming into a maelstrom of blues and greys before he blinked, everything fading to indistinguishable murkiness as the memory of the sight danced behind his eyelids. It was loud enough that for a second after the sound the whole world seemed to fall silent, every soul holding their breath as though in reverence to the power of the storm above before it all seemed to resume at once. He could hear the wind whistling across the battlements even through the perpetual noise of the rain on his helm, a sharp keening that would pick up in urgency every few moments only to be drown out by more thunder, as though the wind and the sky were having an argument, warring over something the stars had said.

  
It was because of the noise that he almost missed the commotion at the gates, but his sharp ears, honed from years of training as a hunter, picked up the hint of raised voices carried on the wind. He halted his trajectory, turning to peer down the stairwell towards the sounds. Two figures were standing at the gates, one of them leaning heavily on the other. The taller one was shouting something at the guards, three sentries who were steadfastly refusing to allow them in, likely because it was so late and they hadn't been notified of any visitors arriving either today or tomorrow. One of the soldiers broke off, marching quickly towards the stairs while the other two remained, drawing their weapons and leveling them at the pair huddled before them. The situation was obviously escalating quickly.

  
Lightning lit up the sky again, and for a half second the entire scene was illuminated in brutal clarity so that Bryce got a good look at the intruders. He took in exhausted faces, soaked armor and robes, dripping blonde hair and matted red, barely standing erect as they held each other and glared at the guards. With a horrible sinking feeling Bryce realized he recognized them, from their services to the Inquisition earlier, and before he knew what he was doing his feet were slapping into the muddy ground carrying him towards the scene as fast they could.

 

***

 

He could feel her skin, like ice beneath her soaked clothes, her hair tangled as it absorbed the relentless water dropping on them from above. He knew he should probably be shivering, but Anders body was long past the point of reacting to the elements, long past the point of being able to do anything as defensive as shiver to warm itself. His own robes were caked with mud, frozen to the fabric and mingling with the sleet and leaves. He gripped Lilly tighter, his fingers so cold he couldn't feel them digging into her hip as he held her upright.

  
The guards in front of them drew their weapons, leveling the tip of their blades at his throat, and Anders felt Justice flare up inside him, anger flushing through him like the flood waters pouring down the mountainside. He shook with the effort to restrain him, his fury an unintelligible stream of cries in his mind that had no words, only force. He grit his teeth to stem the tide, swallowing all of it even as the hair on his arms raised, his heart sparking like the sky above him. The soldiers wanted the pair of them to return tomorrow rather than wake the Inquisitor or the Commander to let them in, and Anders didn't have the endurance to stand there and pretend he gave a nug's ass about protocol right now.

  
“You need to put down that weapon...and go get the Inquisitor. _Immediately_.” he growled.

  
The guard's eyes flicked over him, the tip of his weapon wavering as he steeled his resolve, his eyes flashing dangerously. Maker damn the man for his sense of duty, they did not have time for this. He could feel his hold on Justice fracturing, feel it ready to snap like the string on an out of tune violin, taught and too sharp and fraying.

  
“Serrah Hawke!” a breathless voice broke the tension between them, the guard half turning as another soldier sloshed towards them. He reached them, gasping with the effort of his charge, holding his hand out to push aside the blade that was leveled at the pair. “Serrah Hawke, Master Anders!”

  
The other guard dropped his blade, the cold steel landing wetly on the ground. “Maker, it is them, isn't it? Forgive me, sers, I was just-”

  
“Just doing your job, soldier. We know.” Lilly interrupted, her voice hoarse. She winced as she held her head up, looking at the newcomer with an expression that could have been pleading, were she not too proud to beg. “Now will somebody take us to the Inquisitor?”

  
The new guard saluted quickly before moving to help hold Lilly, pushing himself under her arm to take some of her weight off of Anders shoulders. “I have her, ser. Marshall, could you assist Master Anders?” he tipped his head to get the other dumbstruck man to move. With a grunt Anders found himself being supported by the man and they were being led across the rain ravished courtyard. “Evans, go get the Inquisitor and ask if she can join her guests in the War room.” The last guard took off without question, the sounds of his retreat swallowed by another peal of thunder.

  
Lilly chuckled weakly, her head lolling to the side as she struggled to hold it up. “Glad to see someone around here has some sense. Curly should promote you.”

  
“I get that a lot, although I don't report to Commander Cullen, ma'am.” he said, a slight laugh behind his voice.

  
“Friedman is already the Inquisitor's personal messenger. Don't think you can get a better post than that.” The guard supporting most of Anders' weight said.

  
“Can it, Marshall. Our guests don't need to know about random scout assignments.” the soldier replied.

  
“Nonsense. I can't feel my fucking torso, I need to hear about anything that can distract me from that. So please, tell me all about your dreary life, ser.” Lilly's teeth clattered around her words as she sagged against the man.

  
“Love, don't swear at the soldiers. You'll scare them.” he told her, knowing it would draw out a laugh. She smiled grimly, momentarily distracted from the pain she was in. He knew she was injured, probably a cracked rib from her last fall, maybe some internal bruising from when the swordsman had caught her in the stomach with his boot. Anders couldn't even count how many times they had run into and subsequently escaped their hunters. None of those times had been without a fight, and neither of them had made it here unscathed. By the end of their mad flight neither of them even had the strength left to even feel their injuries, force of will alone putting one foot in front of the other.

  
“Have you spoken with the Inquisitor, ser? Swearing isn't a big cause of concern after a conversation with her.” the scout said, earning another hearty laugh from Lilly. She stumbled as it made her wince, but the man had a good grip on her and kept her upright. He stopped momentarily, his face screwed up with hesitation. “I really hope neither of you kill me for this later.” he said before he swept his hand behind Lilly's knees, lifting her into his arms to more easily carry her. She let out a small squeak of surprise, and she might have been trying to glare but all of her expressions were coming across more dazed than anything. She was only barely hovering on this side of consciousness if her fluttering eyelids were any indication.

  
“Look Anders, no feet.” she mumbled. Her head tipped over to rest against the man's shoulder and he exchanged a look with Anders, silent worry passing between them.

  
“Yes, love, you're quite talented.” Anders replied, carefully keeping the stress out of his voice. They reached the stairs and he had to clench his jaw against the pain of forcing his thighs to lift the rest of his legs, his feet feeling like numb weights tied his calves.  
“Out with it soldier, I need those juicy details before I pass out and never wake up again. Name, rank, how you joined, give me something.” Lilly demanded suddenly. She blinked, widening her eyes forcefully as her head bobbed listlessly against the scout's shoulder.

  
“Bryce Friedman, ma'am. Don't know if I have an official rank anymore, but I came to the Inquisition shortly after the Inquisitor saved Crestwood. Got picked up by the Nightingale for scouting work after she saw me use a bow, eventually found my way to guard duty on a regular basis to keep tabs on those the Nightingale wanted to keep tabs on. I report directly to Lady Sera and the Inquisitor now.” he recited.

  
“Lady Sera?” Lilly laughed shrilly. “Am I hallucinating? Did he just call Sera a 'Lady'?”

  
Bryce let out his own harried chuckled. “Yes, ma'am. She's second in command to the Intelligence officer now, insists on the title because, and I quote, 'Iron Spybitch won't respect her none if she doesn't have a title shoved up her arse'.”

  
Lilly laughed harder this time. “Now _that_ sounded like her. Why'd they single you out?”

  
“Isn't it obvious? My dazzlingly good looks, of course!” Bryce quipped.

  
“Hey now! Don't flirt with my rogue, ser, or I will have to challenge you to a duel of honor!” Anders crowed. “And I'd win for sure, because I'd cheat.”

  
They had reached the inside of the keep and Anders nearly stumbled to the ground in relief to be out of the wind and rain. The room was not overly warm, most of the fires already having gone out as people left to drift off to their rooms to sleep away the stormy evening, but it felt like a blissful summer afternoon compared to what they had been through over the past few days The soldier carrying him, Marshall, had to heft him up and take more of his weight as his legs momentarily turned to jelly.

  
“Anders never did play fair when it came to me.” Lilly said. Her words were slurred but still understandable.

  
“Is that so?” Bryce prompted. He adjusted her in his arms so that she had to hold her head up a little higher, trying to keep her awake. The soldiers knew as well as Anders it would be dangerous for either of them to fall asleep in the state they were in, not until a healer that wasn't half out of their minds with exhaustion could look them over.

  
“He played hard to get for three years!” she continued.

  
“Hard to get? From you? That takes a special kind of stupid, if you ask me!” Bryce said.

  
“Ooh, you hear that love? Bryce here wouldn't have strung me along!” She giggled, sounding slightly hysterical.

  
“That's it Bryce, when I can feel my fingers again I'm going to shoot lightning at you.” Anders did his best to sound ominous, but the effect was spoiled by the way his voice wavered.

  
Bryce gave him a wry smile. “I'm always happy to give people something to live for, ser.”

  
Marshall kicked the door to the war room inward, the wood swinging smoothly and quietly away, so easily that Anders wondered just how often it had been thrown open in such a panicked manner. Marshall carried him over to one of the four chairs placed around the table, easing him down into it. He immediately leaned against the back, his body practically weeping in relief to be seated. He had not been motionless for over twenty four hours, and he felt almost out of place now that he had stopped, like the world was still moving around him and might slip away while he sank softly into the Void. He watched Bryce set Lilly down in the chair next to him and he immediately reached over to her, grabbing her hand and twining his fingers with hers. He couldn't feel anything besides a vague sense of pressure, but just knowing they were connected made things seem a little less dire. They had made it. They could stop. They were safe.

  
Lilly slumped awkwardly in the chair, her eyes looking heavy as the lids flickered dangerously. He squeezed her hand, the pressure rousing her as she winced in reaction. He looked up, finding that Bryce had disappeared from the room leaving the other soldier to hover over them anxiously.

  
“Ser?” he asked, picking at the cuffs of his gauntlets. Anders was about to ask him what he wanted but the door swinging open again robbed him of the chance.

  
Autumn rushed in, wrapped in a fluffy robe with hair frizzed in a thousand different directions. Cullen, in plain cotton trousers and a shirt that was inside out, his own hair a curled mess, was right on her heels.

  
“Maker's breath!” he cried as he took in the sight of the beleaguered travelers. “What happened?”

  
“S'long and t-terrible s-story.” Lilly stuttered. Her body must have been reacting to finally being stilled, shivering uncontrollably in an effort to warm up bones long frozen. He realized as he looked at her that her lips were an unhealthy blue color, and he had a sudden impractical urge to kiss the warmth back into them. He could feel tremors starting in his own body and knew it wouldn't be long before he would start finding out exactly how many injuries he had, and where.

  
The door burst open once more and Bryce rushed back in, blankets slung over his shoulder and two cups of something steaming in either hand. He set the cups down and promptly shook out one of the blankets, wrapping it around Lilly's shoulders delicately. Lilly gave him a smile that was barely a ghost of the usual grin she had, clutching at the warm wool while Bryce tossed Anders his own. It was thick, heavy, and softer than anything Anders had ever felt in his entire life. He'd barely settled with it wrapped tightly around him before the cup of warm something was pressed in his hands, the scent of herbs and heavenly broth overcoming his senses. He took a sip, small so as to keep from overloading his starved system. It was buttery and hearty, soothing against a throat he hadn't realized was so raw, and he could immediately feel it spreading a little strength through his body and keeping him from dissolving into a quivering disaster.

  
“That should help keep you on your feet.” Bryce told them. He turned to face Autumn, giving her a stiff salute. “I've summoned Madame Vivienne to look them over, would you like me to wake the ambassador as well?”

  
“Yes, Bryce. Thank you.” she replied without looking at him, her attention fixed on Lilly as she helped her hold her cup to take small sips, her shaking hands threatening to waste the precious liquid.

  
“We were t-t-trying t-t-to -” Lilly lost the ability to continue as Autumn pressed the cup to her lips again.

  
“Hush, drink this and warm up.”

  
“Could you bring them fresh clothes?” Cullen asked Marshall. The soldier saluted and strode out of the room looking relieved to have a purpose. Then Cullen was leaning in to look Anders over, his calloused hands pressed against his forehead. Anders waved him off irritably, Cullen's palms feeling like fire against his frigid skin.

  
“I'm fine, or I will be at any rate. She's the one with injuries.” he told him.

__

 

_You are wounded as well._

_What?  Where?_

_Your ankle is broken._

_When did that happen?  No, nevermind.  I'll see to it later._

_Tell them._

_Later, Justice.  Go away._

 

 

“He's talking with Justice.” Lilly's quiet voice brought him back to the present and he realized both Autumn and Cullen were looking at him with worried expressions on their faces. “Likely arguing.” she concluded. She took another gulp of her broth, the mixture apparently doing her a world of good already. He realized the herbs he smelled must be some mixture designed to regenerate them in some way. Leave it to the Inquisition to have something like that on hand at all times for their troops.

  
“That's not unsettling at all.” Cullen mumbled sarcastically. Anders could see the fear in his eyes as he looked him over, as though weighing the possibility of Justice coming out to attack them all. In the past Anders might have resented such suspicion, but he had lived with the spirit in his head long enough to know Justice couldn't be trusted. Justice didn't have the same reasoning skills the rest of them did, nor the compassion required to properly deal with humanity. When the spirit got his sights set on something it was nearly impossible handle him, and Anders now accepted that the mistrust from his friends was well founded.

  
“What did he say?” Lilly asked pointedly.

  
Anders scowled at her. “It's not important.”

 

_It is important.  Your pain will only worsen if you try to ignore it._

_I will take care of it.  I don't need to bring it up right this second._

 

“That probably means he's injured and trying to ignore it so that you'll treat me first, and Justice is yelling at him about it.” Lilly told them.

 

_Tell her thank you._

 

“Andraste's ass, will you both get off my back!” he snapped, and Lilly gave a victorious little grin around the rim of her mug.

  
Cullen grimaced, running his hand through his hair. “Er, I guess tell him we'll take care of both of you.”

  
Autumn cleared her throat. “So, can I assume there's a reason why you've both showed up at my doorstep half dead in the middle of the night?” Autumn leaned against the table, crossing her arms to regard them both.

  
“Do you want the long version or the short version?” he asked her.

  
“How about the version that makes the most sense, my dear.” Vivienne said from the doorway. Josephine entered right after her, shutting the door quietly behind them.

  
Anders smiled ruefully. “Have I ever told you how much I dislike most wardens?” he said, and readied himself to tell the tale of how Lilly and himself were chased halfway across the world by murderous wardens from Weisshaupt.


	7. Beatings in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lilly and Anders explain a bit.

Autumn would have liked to say she was happy to see her friends again, but looking into the hollow faces of Anders and Lilly sent a shiver down her spine. The shadows under their reddened eyes were like dark smears on a map, painting part of a picture she knew she didn't want to see. They were haunted, sunken and gaunt in a way she hadn't seen before, and Anders had never been exactly what she would call hale in the first place. They didn't look very far removed from the corpses that had shambled about the Exalted Plains, and whatever had driven them to such a state couldn't possibly portend pleasant news. Even now, as they shivered in the meager blankets, sipping the medicated broth gingerly, the color didn't seem to want to return to their faces, two pale specters risen from the abyss to shatter the fragile peace she had been clinging to for the past few months.

  
Vivienne floated into the room, perfectly put together in a nightgown that looked dangerously close to being an _actual_ gown, and set a tray laden with various bottles on the war table. She was lacking any of her customary makeup, which did nothing to diminish her dignified beauty, although the absence of clicking heels when she moved made the room feel oddly silent. She pulled two vials off the tray and promptly emptied them into their guest's mugs without so much as a warning. Anders sniffed suspiciously at the mixture, his eyes dark as he gazed at the enchanter-turned-spymaster, as though he wasn't sure if she was trying to heal him or poison him. Autumn didn't miss the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth when she noticed the regard, but Vivienne didn't say anything as she walked to her customary position on the other side of the table, turning only momentarily to pull out a stack of papers from the small desk behind her and setting them neatly on the wooden surface before her. Anders, apparently satisfied with what he smelled in the contents of his mug, returned to sipping at the broth, nodding at Lilly's questioning glance so that she did the same.

  
“I thought you were a warden?” Josephine asked as she slid a fresh sheet of parchment onto her clipboard. The diplomat was dressed in a robe much like the one Autumn wore, except hers didn't look like it had been thrown on after she had stumbled out of bed, and her dark hair was coiffed in an immaculate - if slightly plain - bun atop her head. Autumn was beginning to wonder if Cullen and herself were the only people who actually slept in Skyhold, but she knew their disheveled state had less to do with their prior activities and more to do with the fact neither of them cared about being seen unkempt in the middle of the bloody night.

  
“ _Were_ is perhaps the most functional word in that sentence, Lady Montilyet. I left shortly after my recruiting commander returned to Denerim. I found the leaders she left behind did not...measure up to the standards she had held herself to.” he smiled, but the bitterness in his voice was obvious. He shook his head, dismissing the idea before staring into his mug and addressing the spymaster. “What did you put in this, Madame Vivienne?”

  
“Something I engineered to stem internal bleeding and mend broken bones. It should keep you both alive until such time as myself or the other healers can get a proper look at you.” she smiled magnanimously. “It also has a tendency to dull pain and reinvigorate those close to their physical limits, which I judge you will find highly beneficial.”

  
“An impressive list of attributes. I would love the formula for such a potion. I think after everything that's happened, having a few herbal remedies on hand in case I'm ever incapacitated wouldn't be a bad idea.”

  
“Of course, my dear.” her smile was unwavering.

  
“So, I take it the wardens have something to do with why you're here?” Autumn interrupted them, wanting to get to the heart of the matter so that she could get whatever bad news they were bringing to bear over with. She hopped up, sitting on the edge of the table and swinging her feat beneath her, using the motion to try and expel some of the nervous energy she felt building up inside of her. “Let me guess, your visit to Weisshaupt wasn't the vacation you had hoped for?”

  
Lilly let out a derisive snort so loud Josephine jumped slightly in response. “No, it was lovely. Stodgy wardens, bizarre happenings, threatening dispositions, all followed by the harrowing flight halfway across the fucking continent made for an excellent time. I would give it ten stars out of ten, would definitely book their services again.” Lilly laughed mirthlessly.. “I particularly enjoyed the part with the beatings in the woods. It's been _ages_ since I got a good beating in the woods.”

  
“What in the name of all that is holy _happened_ out there?” Cullen let out a massive breath as he spoke, his worry a physical strain resting in his neck and shoulders, so heavy she could actually see it as though someone had wrapped it around him, an inconvenient mantle that had been absent since Corypheus had fallen, but was now settling back in place like a well worn cloak. He slid his fingers through his hair, the curls straightening out momentarily before snapping back into lazy waves that glittered gold even in the ruddy candlelight.

  
“Perhaps we should start from the beginning, and get to the beatings in the woods later?” Anders suggested. Lilly gave him a small little smile and nodded her head.

  
“Right, I suppose the beginning was when we arrived at Weisshaupt. You should know that much already, since we sent a few letters to Varric before everything fell right off the top of fucked up mountain. He shared those with you, yes?” Lilly asked.

  
“I believe Divine Victoria saw them before she left for Val Royeaux.” Vivienne replied, her eyes on a paper in front of her. She ran her finger down the page, reading quickly before she found what she needed. “Ah yes, here it is. You mentioned something seemed off, but that otherwise everything was going to plan.”

  
“Yes, although we never really had a _plan_ beyond 'tell the wardens not to fall for another darkspawn trap'. We got there and requested to speak to the First Warden, to explain to him what we knew of Corypheus and make sure they were prepared for anything he might throw at them. They didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat for us, but at the time nothing really seemed amiss.” Anders told them.

  
When he paused to sip his broth Lilly jumped in seamlessly, the pair of them long practiced at telling tales together. “We were given cozy enough lodging and a spiel about how the First Warden was very busy, but that he would see us as soon as he could, we were very important to him, blah blah fucking blah. At the time I thought it was just bureaucratic nug dung, since I'd heard the First Warden was a big fan of politics and other such nonsense, but then a few days went by and we hadn't heard anything about being able to see him. I asked around and was basically given non-answers at every turn, but there wasn't much I could do about it. I wanted to make sure the leaders got the information directly, so I couldn't just give up without seeing him. It just didn't seem like a good idea to leave such important intel in the hands of some messenger, you know?”

  
Autumn groaned. “Why do I get the feeling you never met with him?”

  
“Hang on, we'll get to that part.” Anders gave her a tired smile as he held up a finger to forestall any further inquiries.. “So, Lilly was growing impatient, and I can't say I was particularly delighted to be forced to spend more time there myself. I was using an alias, but that didn't mean it was _safe_ for me to be running around the warden stronghold, because Maker only knows what they would have done if they found out who I was.”

  
“Right, because they couldn't guess who the warden mage traveling with the Champion of Kirkwall could possibly be.” Cullen scoffed.

  
“If they knew they didn't press the issue.” Lilly frowned at him.

  
“Probably because of the reputation you have for murdering people that threaten him, darling.” Vivienne drawled, which made Lilly giggle girlishly.

  
“And here I thought rogues were supposed to be good at being sneaky.” Josephine added, her eyebrow raised in amusement as she flourished her quill.

  
Cullen barked out a loud, incredulous laugh. “Autumn sets herself _on fire_ most of the time in battle. Clearly _sneaky_ is not a universal rogue trait.”

  
Autumn bristled, sitting up straight and giving him a sharp glance. “Hey, I can be stealthy if I want to be.”

  
“Of course, dear! Like the time you used Bull's shoulders as leverage to launch yourself, _screaming_ , at the Ferelden Frostback. You're the very picture of subtlety.” Vivienne purred, her eyes glittering maliciously.

  
Autumn crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at all of them in turn. “The level of sass in this room is offensive, and you should all feel ashamed of yourselves.”

  
“Yes, I'm certain we'll all ask the Maker for forgiveness later.” Josephine mumbled before turning a dazzling smile to the haggard guests. “Please, Lilly, continue your story.”

  
“Yes, well, for the record I am usually _very sneaky_ , and I agree that the sass in this room is entirely unwarranted.” Cullen and Anders both chuckled together at the remark, and Lilly spared a scathing glance at her lover before continuing.. “In any case, that isn't the point. The point is I started getting a weird vibe from everyone around us, and thought it might do some good to pay very close attention to what it was the wardens were doing that they thought was so much more important than news about an ancient darkspawn magister using them to summon a demon army.” Lilly cleared her throat, adjusting in her seat so that she could sit up a little. “We started to notice that there seemed to be an awful lot of wardens coming in as prisoners. Every other day someone would be dragged in, cuffed or unconscious, which was rather a lot of supposed criminals dressed in warden armor.”

  
“Wait, that doesn't make any sense. They were just...capturing other wardens?” Cullen asked.

  
Anders nodded his head. “So it would seem. It was odd enough to catch Lilly's attention, so naturally she neglected any sense of caution to follow a group of them one night.”

  
Lilly rolled her eyes but ignored the jab. “I got close enough to hear one of the abducted wardens begging to be released, swearing that he didn't belong there and that he had to get back to his post. They ignored him and tossed him in a cell, so I waited in the shadows for them to leave and then had myself a nice little chat with the prisoner.” she paused to take a deep breath. “Turns out a big group of wardens had come out of nowhere and ordered him and his partner to come with them. The prisoner said he'd been part of a patrol that belonged with the Orlesian warden faction, and he didn't feel right just up and leaving his route without reporting to the Inquisition people first. That's when the Weisshaupt group attacked them and killed his partner. Then they knocked him out and dragged him all the way to the fortress before tossing him into a cell, never once explaining what was going on. He was convinced it had something to do with the Corypheus fiasco, but I had my doubts since they couldn't have known much about that since WE were the ones trying to report that to the higher ups. I promised him I would do what I could to bring him information later before I made my way back to our room to try and figure things out.”

  
“The next day we were in for quite a shock when we found him sitting in the mess hall, looking perfectly content to eat his lumpy porridge even though his friend was dead and he had been wrongly imprisoned only the night before.” Anders interjected. “Lilly practically had a stroke when she realized it was him. So, obviously, we went to sit next to him and see if he could explain what this was all about.”

  
“Imagine my surprise when not only did he not know what I was talking about, he didn't know who I was or anything about the wardens in Orlais. It was like his memory had been completely erased sometime during the night.” Lilly glowered, her fingers gripping the mug in her hand so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

  
“After that we started noticing that all the wardens that were brought in eventually made their way into the regular rotations, none of them looking at all concerned at how they got there.” Anders added. “Lilly, being Lilly, was completely incapable of just attempting to lay low until we met with the First Warden. She started trying to talk to every person we noticed brought in this way, trying to determine what was going on for herself.”

  
Lilly nodded emphatically. “Not a single one of them could tell me where they had been stationed before Weisshaupt, like they never even existed before they came there.”

  
“Do you think they might be trying to wipe the memories of the Orlesian wardens? Perhaps they feel that if none remember the mistakes at Adamant it wouldn't stain their honor?” Josephine tapped her quill against her lips thoughtfully.

  
“What good would that do? It's not like the rest of us will forget so easily. Besides, Hawke hadn't even reported yet, why would they assume they needed to wipe the event off the timeline before they even knew what was going on?” Cullen said.

  
“Would it be possible it was for interrogation purposes? Perhaps they were trying to determine what happened before they talked to the Champion?” Vivienne tilted her head pensively.

  
Cullen shook his head in irritation. “Why would they need to abduct them to do so? And why wipe their memories afterward?”

  
Autumn shifted on the table, adjusting her seating so that she could bring her legs up to tuck underneath herself. She picked at the tangles in her hair absently, brushing her fingers through halting paths as she pondered the purpose of what they'd been told. “Is it a warden thing? Do they make them forget, like the Chantry did with the templar?” she spared a nervous glance at Cullen, who scowled at the mention. He knew all too well what the chantry had done to keep the templar order in line over the years, and breaking the chains of that bondage had nearly killed him. If the wardens were capable of doing something similar it couldn't be anything pleasant for those put through whatever process they used.

  
“If it's a warden thing I certainly never knew about it. I don't even know how they would be wiping memories like that.” Anders shrugged.

  
“Perhaps the same way the chantry did it.” Vivienne said ominously. The room fell silent as they all contemplated the horror of giving wardens lyrium to erase their minds.

  
“Whatever they were doing, they didn't seem to want me to find out about it. I was approached by a group of very important looking wardens and asked to stop prying into warden business.” Lilly continued. “After that they started sending people to check in on me daily, ensuring I didn't have any time to investigate further, all the while still refusing to let me meet with the First Warden.”

  
“It didn't take long before they started _rewuesting_ she join the grey wardens, either.” Anders added, clearly outraged at the idea.

  
Lilly reached over to brush her hand against his shoulder in reassurance. “They were only dropping hints at first, insisting that I would make 'a fine warden'. Then they flat out asked me to join, and when I refused it was apparently the last straw for them. A few days later they sent in a group of ever so cheery gentlemen to tell me I was being conscripted, and that I could undergo the joining or be executed.”

  
“ _Shit_.” Autumn gasped.

  
“That's what I said.” Lilly gave her a rueful smile. “Naturally I very politely refused-”

  
“You told them to go suck on a golem's tit.” Anders quipped.

  
“I _very politely_  refused their lovely offer and informed them I would be choosing neither option they had so graciously provided.” Lilly reiterated.

  
“I'm going to guess that didn't go over well?” Autumn smirked at them, knowing it had to have been a dire situation, but unable to help being amused at their reaction to it.

  
Lilly grinned, her lips splitting to reveal her teeth in an expression that was somehow both self deprecating and feral all at once. “They cracked me over the head from behind and I was out before I knew what happened.”

  
“Maker's mercy, they didn't make you undergo the joining did they?” Josephine's hand flew up to her cheek, her eyes widening in horror.

  
Anders cleared his throat awkwardly. “They never got the chance. Justice doesn't exactly _appreciate_ people threatening Lilly.” he blushed and let his gaze drift downward until he was staring at the floor.

  
“Justice took care of them and got us out of there. When I came to we weren't very far from Weisshaupt, and it didn't take them long to track us down. We escaped, but we've been on the run ever since trying to get somewhere they couldn't reach us.” Lilly said.  “Which is where all the exciting beatings in the woods happened, because those fuckers were never very far behind.”

“I don't know what was going on, but I don't think it was anything good. I think they're trying to round up wardens for something, and they're trying to keep it a secret. So much so that they were willing to try and force Lilly to join just to keep her from calling attention to them if she left. I suspect that's why they're so determined to catch us and bring us back in.” Anders added.

  
Autumn shared a worried glance with Cullen. “Rounding up wardens?”

“She's not going to like that.” he murmured.


	8. Yes, Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody is brought up to speed.

The knock on the door startled her awake, and Melody shot forward in the bed, the covers sliding off to pool over the edge as she blinked in confusion at the murky darkness hovering around her chamber. For a moment she couldn't place where she was, her disoriented mind so unused to waking in an actual bed that she was half convinced she was still asleep. The second round of pounding on the door confirmed that she was more than likely awake, however, and as she swung her feet to hop lightly to the floor the memories of where she was came back, the fog of sleep finally clearing to leave her alarmed at the disturbance. The rain and wind were still clashing together noisily outside, the solid blackness against the window pane alerting her to the fact it could not be anywhere close to dawn. She shivered as her feet left the plush carpet, wrapping one of the overly fluffy robes provided by the lady ambassador around her shoulders and hurrying to the door, which was shaking under the onslaught of a third round of knocks.

  
“I'm coming!” she grumbled, more to herself than anything else as she reached the door and cracked it open. A fully armored guard with a mishmash of freckles dotting across his face regarded her sheepishly. “What is it?”

  
“Sorry to disturb you, my lady, but the Inquisitor has requested your presence in the war room immediately.” The guard ducked his head apologetically.

  
Melody felt her eyebrow quirk up. “I suppose I don't have time to get dressed then, do I?”

  
To his credit the guard held his even expression despite the slight flush running across his cheeks. “Er, you could take the time, ma'am, if you must, but I think the matter is somewhat urgent.”

  
“And would I be correct in assuming you don't know anything about what this matter _is_?” she asked as she opened the door wide, walking out into the hall and closing it behind her. The floor was icy, but she opted to remain barefoot, expediency winning out over personal comfort when she saw the look of worry in the soldier's eyes.

  
“Not really my place to say, but I brought the Champion in out of the rain not long ago, and since she's still in there with them I suspect it has something to do with her.” the guard gave her a sly look, clearly wanting to talk more about it but not wanting to cross any lines of decorum. Melody wondered with some trepidation if he knew who she was, but she found the longer she stayed with the Inquisition the more she trusted the men and women that served here with that knowledge. If it HAD gotten out that she was the queen, they had at least had the decency and discretion to avoid gawking at her, or addressing her as such in public, which was a level of respect she hadn't anticipated. Cullen really had worked wonders with his people, and Leliana's scouts – now Vivienne's scouts – were shrewd enough to know what was up before anyone had to explain it to them. It was a more unified force of people than she had ever seen before, and when she finally returned to Denerim she would have to request Cullen give the officers in her own army any pointers he could spare so she could bring her forces up to the same level in due time.

  
“The Champion?” Melody asked absently as they made their way through the dimly lit hallways, most of the torches already doused for the evening. Small oil lamps were still placed in sconces on the wall for those that needed to see their way in the dark, but the shadows tonight were not easy for the light to penetrate. The howling of the wind mingling with the darkness created a somber atmosphere that would have made an admirable setting for a horror story, and she wondered if Varric were awake somewhere taking notes for one of his books.

  
“Champion of Kirkwall, my lady.” he clarified.

  
“I think I heard about her...didn't she blow up the chantry or something?” Melody's brow furrowed as she tried to recall what it was she heard about Kirkwall. She remembered it had sparked the mage rebellion, but as she had been traveling and concerned with other matters at the time she hadn't paid much attention to the gossip surrounding the incident.

  
The guard cleared his throat, pulling at his collar uncomfortably. “Uh, no, that wasn't _her_. She was just...um, I really don't think I should say, ma'am. She's a friend of the Inquisition, and I have great respect for herself and Master Anders.”

  
Melody's head snapped sideways to look at the guard. “Did you just say Anders?” She stopped walking, staring at the guard as he gave her a nervous look.

  
“Um, ma'am, can I be frank?”

  
“Is he here?!” she blurted out, her heart skipping a few beats. He blinked at her in shocked silence for a moment, and when it became apparent he wasn't going to elaborate until she answered him she wrinkled her nose. “Yes, speak freely, and fast!”

  
“Anders is a good man and whatever you may have heard about him you shouldn't hold against him. I saw him do a lot for a lot of soldiers at Adamant, and if you're going to do anything to him you might make enemies of many of us in the Inquisition.” he rushed through the statement and gave her a prim salute at the end.

  
She laughed a little, shaking her head. “I haven't heard _anything_ about him for the longest time...but I suspect I will, won't I?” she tugged her hair out of the ponytail, using her fingers to straighten it before tying it back up again. “You can relax, ser. Anders is an old friend.” she gestured with her arm that he lead the way, and they resumed their hasty march to the war room.

  
For some time they walked in silence, long enough that Melody became lost in her own thoughts. Anders, here, traveling with the Champion of Kirkwall? However did he meet her? For that matter, what in the world had he done to warrant such a reaction from the guard? Obviously it was common knowledge, but trekking around Tevinter in secrecy hadn't exactly made it easy to keep up on current events. Whatever he did was enough to make the guard assume her reaction to his name had negative connotations, which worried her immensely. Anders was a soft, kind soul who had a way of cheering her up that had made the mess in Amaranthine bearable in the absence of her husband. He had been something of a surrogate Alistair at the time, much to her king's chagrin, but when everything had fallen apart it was his irreverent sense of humor that had kept things from dragging her under, and she would always feel affection towards him for that.

  
Melody took a deep breath to brace herself as the guard knocked on the door shortly before pushing it inward, opening it to reveal the small chamber and the bedraggled figures lingering there. Her eyes passed over Autumn and the advisors and fell on the two soggy people seated in front of them, draped in blankets and cradling mugs as though they held the essence of life itself. She nearly choked on the air in her chest when the recognition flooded through her, the brown eyes and blonde hair unmistakable, even soaked and grimy as he was. He looked a thousand years older than she remembered, more shadows in his eyes than before, his cheeks more angular as the flesh around them hung looser, his hair dim compared to the carefully tended gold she recalled. She brought her hand up to her chest, feeling it rise with a hitching breath as she looked at him and wondered what had happened to him to bring such sadness to that exuberant face.

  
“Melody?” he asked, and even his voice had lost some of its luster, the timbre that had once charmed the pants off half the wardens in the keep now whittled away to something fragile and achingly sad. He stood slowly, his legs shaking in the effort it took to support him.

  
She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around a frame that felt all bones and fragility, all of the vitality robbed from it over the years. “Anders, Maker's breath...” she said, and she could feel the tears stinging in her eyes. She blinked them away, crushing him slightly in her exhilaration.

  
“You're alive!” he exclaimed, one of his arms returning her affection while he held the other away awkwardly to avoid spilling the mug's contents on her. She felt his breath brush over the top of her head as he exhaled heavily.

  
She laughed, slightly giddy as she pulled back to look at him some more. She wanted to ask him a million questions about the hurt lurking in his eyes, but she held her tongue, hoping she would get the chance some other time. Instead she turned to Autumn, smirking slightly. “Are you collecting grey wardens now, Inquisitor?” she used her title facetiously, knowing Autumn would appreciate the joke.

  
“Apparently wardens are much like stray cats. Feed one and the rest just start showing up, yelling at your guards to let them in.” she replied airily, grinning.

  
“I take it no introductions are necessary, then?” Cullen asked her, crossing his arms. He smiled warmly, but there was tension in his posture that let her know this meeting wasn't called just for a reunion of old friends.

  
Melody smiled, stepping away from Anders and allowing him to sink heavily back into his chair. She hadn't realized how exhausted he was, and the relief on his face at being off his feet made her wince guiltily. The woman in the other chair was eyeing her suspiciously, emerald green irises peeking out of the slits of her eyelids. “I've known Anders a long time.” Melody answered Cullen off hand while she locked gazes with the petite red head before her. The freckles on her face made her look young, but the predatory set of her shoulders and intimidating stare spoke of a woman who had seen enough to have her youth taken from her long ago.

  
“ _We_ haven't been introduced.” the woman said, her voice a dangerous purr. Anders glanced over at her, his eyebrow quirking up as a small smile twitched on his lips.

  
“Lilly, allow me to introduce you to Melody Theirin, the woman who conscripted me into the wardens. Melody, this is Lilly Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall.” he said evenly, his voice full of humor at Lilly's reaction.

  
Melody held out her hand with the biggest smile she could muster. “Pleased to meet you, Champion.”

  
Lilly's demeanor changed completely after that, her suspicion disappearing to be replaced by warm enthusiasm so fast it made Melody's head spin. “Oh, the queen! Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your majesty!” she took Melody's hand and shook it firmly. “And please, call me Lilly. People really need to stop referring to me as champion of a city I'm not allowed in anymore.”

  
Melody laughed lightly. “There's an interesting story there, I'm sure, but fine, Lilly it is.”

  
Anders made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and Melody glanced at him, his face contorting in a grimace that surprised her. “Let's not talk about Kirkwall.” he said somberly.

  
Melody moved to lean against the table next to Autumn, watching Anders blush with curiosity. She made a mental note to pry the story out of him later, but now was obviously not the time. “So, not that I'm not happy to see Anders, but is there a reason I had to be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to do it?” she asked.

 

***

 

Cullen resisted the urge to shuffle his feet as he let Lilly and Autumn explain everything they had just learned to Melody. He felt like he had been thrown back in time, no more self assured or confident than the eighteen year old boy who'd believed he was doing the Maker's work by protecting the mages and making doe eyes at the pretty mage who had always kept her nose in a book. He had somehow found himself in the same room with three women who could arguably be dubbed the most important women in his life, and despite the fact that he was married to one of them, the commander of a formidable army, and years of experience away from who he used to be, he discovered that being near all of them at once made him a bundle of nerves.

  
It didn't help matters that the reason they had all been brought together was another crisis looming at the edge of the horizon. He almost felt like it was some personal failing of his own that caused it, as though he should have been able to protect them somehow from the world that seemed fated to keep trying to drag them all into the abyss. Logically he knew better, and the idea of him actually needing to _protect_ three of the most dangerous women in the world was ludicrous, but that didn't dispel the sense of responsibility he felt towards all of them.

  
Perhaps that was his own destiny. These women, who walked through fire time and time again, would shape the world, but behind them stood the men who would quietly wait for their return, keeping the faith in their abilities alive no matter how many times they saw them crumble behind closed doors. He loved Autumn, the feeling bigger, greater than anything he had ever known, and he believed that she was meant to lead them, through what they had already been through, as well as whatever was to come. He would continue to believe that, no matter how many times he held her while she cried over her perceived failings, over the people they had lost or the mistakes that had kept them from saving more lives. Her humanity, her fragility, only made her all the more awe inspiring, and he held her tighter as a way to anchor her to reality as the world asked more of her than she ever meant to give. Autumn created the shape of things to come, and Cullen would stand beside her and hold her up no matter what those things might be.

  
He wondered if Alistair or Anders ever felt this way, like they were merely the unworthy followers chosen to stand in the dazzling light of the women who loved them. If they ever felt the horrible fear of watching their loves ride away into danger, knowing it was not their place to follow into the darkness, but to remain vigilant over the light so that when they returned, because surely they must _always_ return, they would still find the comfort of what they had left behind. Even when Cullen had joined Autumn in battle he still felt left behind somehow, like the story was never really about him, the action always centered on her and whether or not she would prevail. It was the reality of loving someone so great, and while it sometimes left him feeling useless and ineffectual, he would give up any agency, any spotlight, just to remain by her side.

  
“Cullen?” the sound of his name passing through Autumn's lips snapped him back into the moment. He shook his head, giving her a sheepish grin, and the look of adoration that brought to her face would never fail to send a rush of joy spreading through his chest. “Would it be possible to increase the patrols around the area? I'm concerned about the wardens that were pursuing Lilly and Anders figuring out where they escaped to.”

  
He straightened, his head responding with a curt nod almost before he'd processed the command. “Of course.”

  
“Do you think...” Melody was tugging at the tips of her hair as her eyes stared off into space, contemplating something. “Could this be why they ordered me to return to Ferelden? Because they wanted to know where I was while they were rounding up wardens?” the concern in her voice was unmistakable.

  
“Perhaps whatever they are doing isn't limited to the Orlesian wardens. Perhaps it's something they plan to do to ALL wardens.” Josephine speculated. Her voice was quiet but it carried easily through the room, the implication to her words settling over them like weights pressed into their chests.

  
“I have to go back.” Melody surged forward, pacing frantically. “I have to get to Alistair, to warn him!”

  
“The group chasing us won't be far away. It's not safe for you to go out traveling on your own.” Anders told her.

  
“So, what, you would have me sit here hidden in this castle while they send people after my husband?!” she cried. “He won't be safe, not from wardens, not in Denerim.” she was wringing her hands as she continued her hectic path, three steps forward before she turned rapidly and retraced them in the other direction.

  
Autumn reached out and grabbed her elbow, halting her movement with gentle efficiency. “You're right, he won't be safe...in _Denerim_.” her voice was full of excitement. Melody just stared at her, her shoulders tense as she waited for Autumn to elaborate. “Vivienne, we have the special messengers from Leliana still, yes?”

  
“Of course, my dear. They are at out disposal and I can have them ready to deliver a message at a moments notice.” Vivienne inclined her head slightly, her expression as curious as the others in the room had become.

  
Autumn folded her hand into a fist and pressed it against her palm, her posture straightening with determination. “Excellent. So here's what I'm thinking: we use Leliana's messenger network to get a message to Alistair that he's in danger from the wardens. We can have faith that our former spymaster has personally assured the trustworthiness of her people, so there's no danger of the letters being compromised.”

  
“Knowledge of the danger alone may not protect him entirely.” Josephine interrupted.

  
“Which is why we tell him to come here. We can't protect him in Denerim, but I'll be damned if we can't keep a few wardens safe in Skyhold!” she crowed.

  
“If it's a bad idea for _me_ to travel alone then _Alistair_ doing so would be a disaster.” Melody said. There was laughter behind her voice but it still held an edge of worry that made the statement sound slightly off kilter.

  
“Oh! I have a solution for that!” Lilly all but raised her hand as her head snapped up excitedly.

  
Cullen cleared his throat trying to stifle his laughter at her exuberant reaction. “Before we get too into planning I'm going to have to excuse myself momentarily. I want to get the orders out to the men that no grey wardens are to be admitted within the premises under any circumstances unless personally approved by myself or Madame Vivienne.” he explained.

  
“Good thinking. Make sure the patrols know to be on the lookout for any warden activity, and pass the orders along to our outposts throughout Ferelden and Orlais. Vivienne, could you ensure our spy network is keeping tabs on all of the Orlesian wardens? And I don't want any wardens patrolling on their own anymore, fold them in with our own troops for their own safety.” Autumn hopped off the table, tapping her finger against her cheek as she issued her orders. “Josephine, will you get started on that letter while Cullen is out? Oh, and I think we should contact Leliana directly first, that way she can send her most trusted messengers to Denerim. I don't want to take any chances with the king of Ferelden on the line!”

  
“Yes, Inquisitor.” all three advisors chimed at the same time. Cullen smiled to himself as he walked out of the room to inform the troops of the changes, knowing that whatever may come at least they were all in very capable, if slightly excitable, hands.


	9. Handsome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Divine receives the request and Varric has to deal with a visitor.

_Divine Victoria,_   
_We have an urgent situation developing and would like to request the use of your most trusted messenger to deliver a letter for us. The information cannot be seen by anyone other than the intended recipient, and we trust no one else with this level of discretion. Enclosed you will find a letter explaining further, if you require any explanation, and I have placed the classified missive in a sealed envelope. The Inquisition is working to handle the situation, and we will try to keep you updated as things change._   
_Sincerely,_   
_Lady Josephine Montilyet_   
_Ambassador to the Inquisition_

_PS I hope you are well, and Autumn would like you to know Baron Plucky is doing well and is enjoying his retirement under Cole's care._

 

_Leliana,_   
_I hope you won't damn me to eternal suffering for using your given name. It will take me a long time to get used to thinking of you as Divine. Congratulations, and way to go on all the sweeping changes. I've always thought the chantry could use a good boot in the rear, and I couldn't possibly think of anyone better to do it. Just try not to decapitate everyone who disagrees with you. I know it worked well on darkspawn, but I think politics might require more diplomacy._   
_I am rather cross with you for leaving before I got here, though. I currently find myself as a guest in your Inquisition, and I must say I'm very impressed with everything, even the fact they tried to murder me a little when I asked for you at the gates (apparently getting left out of the loop can be dangerous when your friends become religious figureheads). I suppose you have a knack for finding the exact best place to be, always just left of the center of everything important. From what Autumn tells me you were as wonderful to her as you were when I was dragging you all over Ferelden, so you certainly haven't lost your touch._   
_I wish I had happier news to send you, or that I could come visit you myself, but unfortunately things haven't quite turned out the way I would have liked. You've got the official report from the Inquisition, so I won't waste any words going over everything again, but I do want to say I'm worried. I never thought that leaving him behind would be putting HIM in danger someday, and I'm so terrified that I can hardly breathe. I don't know how to sit around waiting for him to be rescued by other people, it's just not in my nature I suppose. I know he would probably laugh because it's a taste of my own medicine, and usually making him smile is all it takes to brighten my mood, but I find it just isn't as reassuring when I can't see it for myself._   
_In any case, it was wonderful to hear about you from everyone here, and I hope that someday soon we can get together and catch up. I miss you dearly, and before you write back just to tell me, I already promise I will do my best to stay out of trouble._   
_I can't make any promises for the Inquisitor, however, who seems like she goes about looking for trouble as a hobby. So if anything alarming happens I am preemptively blaming her._   
_Love always,_   
_Melody_

 

Leliana rolled up the scroll, tucking it safely in her lap as the metal tapping against stone announced the heavy footfalls of her Right hand. Her armor shifted as she moved, the metal pieces hitting together to create a small symphony of ringing peals, a cacophony that didn't feel like it fit with the soft, feminine figure that wore it. Perhaps _soft_ wasn't the right word, Leliana mused to herself, as the body was one honed by battle and years of service to the templar order. Those years had not been particularly kind to her servant, the memories of wounds both physical and mental visible in the set of her jaw, in the way her dark brows would grow close to each other even as she tried not to scowl. Her lips still retained their smile, however, and Leliana could not help but notice just how lovely the pale woman looked, even dressed in heavy plate with her long, wavy hair, a sight to behold on the few occasions she had let it down, contained in a prim, braided bun.

  
She offered a stiff salute as she came to a halt near Leliana's chair, her eyes bright and clear and filled with the same sense of duty and resolve that had always been there. “You wanted to see me, your perfection?”

  
Leliana scowled at her, her lip jutting out in a pout that was entirely unsuited to her new station. “I really hate that form of address.” Her Hand offered no response other than a slight smirk and a nearly silent laugh. Leliana huffed, resigning herself to the ridiculous monickers that came with her new position. “Anyhow, yes. I have a job for you.”

  
“I had assumed as much, most holy.” she switched titles, the humor in her voice evident, and Leliana could tell she was in a particularly good mood today if she was willing to tease her, even if it was in her own subtle way.

  
Leliana picked up the sheet holding Josephine's words, passing them over without any preamble. “I'm sending you to complete the task.”

  
Her eyes widened as she read the missive, a gloved thumb rubbing a corner of the page as though trying to ensure it was real. “I am honored, most holy.”

  
Leliana gave her a gracious smile, folding her hands into the sleeves of her gilded robe. “I would trust no other with this task.” she paused, regarding her faithful servant with affection. “Will he be joining you?”

  
The smile wasn't subtle this time, her rose petal lips lifting up to reveal perfectly straight teeth. “If your eminence has no objections.”

  
Leliana laughed, knowing full well her Right Hand was really two people, a matched set since the day she had approached them for the job. “I wouldn't have it any other way. Please, make sure my friend reaches his destination safely. If not for Ferelden, than for myself.”

  
The Knight bowed low, strands of her black hair coming loose to hang down towards the shining marble floor. “I won't fail you.” she promised. She stood and marched back out the way she had come as Leliana pulled the letters back out, reading them over once more, praying for her friends and hoping this would be enough to help them.

 

***

 

Varric paused his writing for a moment to rub at his eyes, pressing the fatigue out of the tired muscles as he tried to focus on the words on the page rather than the kink in his neck. It was difficult trying to write more of this story, his disinterest in it making every new sentence feel like it was drawn directly from his blood, a monumental effort just to string together thoughts and try to paint the picture he wanted to. He _hated_ Swords and Shields, but he knew he had at least one fan, and no matter how many times he tossed his quill across the room in frustration, the smile he hoped to put on her face when he handed her the next installment always made him get back up and retrieve it.

  
He set his writing equipment down on the table, stretching as he laced his fingers together, popping his knotted knuckles to release the strain in the overworked digits. He stared blearily at the paragraphs sitting in front of him, doubting every bit of the story so far, feeling like it was lacking some fundamental quality to make it really sing. There was something about this particular series that just never seemed to fit together. He could write endless characters in and out of the plot, put them in a thousand scenarios that were _supposed_ to be passionate and romantic, but for whatever reason they always felt hollow to him. There was a key ingredient that he was missing, something he needed to add to really make it flow and pop the way his other work did, but damned if he knew what it was.

  
“Well hello there, handsome.”

  
He froze as the familiar, sultry voice drifted over to him, the light pouring in from the open doorway suddenly marred by a shapely shadow. He looked up, taking in her rosy cheeks and smiling lips, and even after all this time he still felt a small drop in his stomach to see her again. He forced his features into a scowl, although it wasn't particularly hard considering just how angry he was with her. He swallowed thickly, keeping his mouth closed in the hopes she might just wander away again.

  
“Come on Varric, you aren't still mad about the thaig, are you?” Bianca whined, giving him a pouty expression, the same one that used to drive him to his knees to please her.

  
“Are you kidding me?” he snapped. “You think you can sell a mine full of dangerous lyrium to Corypheus and just be _forgiven_?”

  
Her pout turned to a wounded frown, her eyes shining with hurt and resentment at his reaction. She didn't respond, her gaze dipping downward to examine her feet with interest.

  
“Ah, one of the rare times you don't have anything to say. I should mark the occasion, maybe mount a plaque on the wall in remembrance.” he scoffed.

  
Her eyes shot up, her chin jutting forward defiantly. “How many times are you going to make me apologize before you just get over it already?”

  
He sighed airily, looking up at the ceiling with feigned wistfulness. “Ah, and the moment is gone, killed before it even got started.”

  
“Varric! You know I didn't do any of that on purpose!” she stomped her foot like a spoiled child, and it was such an accurate representation of her entire personality he couldn't help but laugh.

  
“Yeah, and you're really broken up about it, too. I can tell you've probably lost tons of sleep, what with how well rested and cheery you look.” he gestured vaguely at her face, his ink stained fingers accusing her of the lie he knew she was telling, declaring her guilt false and her apology unaccepted without explicitly having to say it.

  
“I don't walk around making myself miserable over the past.” she crossed her arms over her chest, staring at him hotly as her indignation got the better of her. “Besides, we closed it off and you and your precious Inquisitor got out just fine. I don't see why you have to hold such a grudge about it.”

  
“Me and the Inquisitor?” he guffawed, his mouth dropping open incredulously as he realized just how ignorant she could be of her own damn folly. “You think I'm mad because you put MY sorry ass in danger? Bianca, have you ever even considered how your mistake led to the massacre of the entire templar order? How much damage that red lyrium did in the mines in Sahrnia?”

  
Her lower lip quivered but she held his gaze, resolutely refusing to speak when faced with the full magnitude of what she had done.

  
“You never think beyond yourself.” he continued quietly, the statement encompassing a great many more crimes than the one they were currently talking about, his anger over wounds inflicted long ago mingling with his anger over the present. “You're so wrapped up in your own world you barely notice anybody else is even out there.”

  
He watched her face fall, and he hated the way it broke his heart to see the tears glitter in the corner of her eyes. “You're right. I'm sorry, Varric. I really am.” To her credit she finally sounded like she meant it.

  
He sighed, the fury in his chest suddenly seeming too slippery to hold onto, rushing away like trickles of rainwater down the side of a mountain, lost in the cracks of things too large to express and to entrenched to be moved. “Look, maybe we'll talk about this later. I'm kinda busy right now, but come find me in the tavern sometime.” he lied. He wasn't busy, nor did he ever want her to find him in the tavern, but the reassurance was out of his mouth against his will, something twisted and awful inside of him yearning to make her smile again.

  
“Thanks, Varric.” she blushed prettily and the room suddenly felt too small, shrinking in an instant and wrapping around him until he was forced to turn away, facing the wall just so he could draw in a breath.

  
“Yeah, yeah, I haven't forgiven you yet.” he mumbled, desperate to end their conversation and his own discomfort. “Don't you have somewhere to be? I know you didn't come to Skyhold just to bother me.”

  
She smiled brightly, their argument apparently already dismissed in her mind. “Yeah, I just wanted to say hello before I reported for duty. See you later, handsome.” she turned and walked away, giving him a one handed wave without turning back as her bouncing steps carried her out of sight.

  
Varric watched her go before trying to turn back to his work, but if the words were difficult to summon before they were impossible now, and he soon gave up, resigned to wallow in misery for the rest of what was sure to be an utterly unproductive afternoon.


	10. You are Welcome to Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lilly and Melody clear some things up and we meet Gaius, a very lovely person.

Lilly paced outside the door, her feet scuffing against the stonework as she tugged anxiously at her fingers. There wasn't enough ale in the tavern to make the conversation she was about to have any easier, and in fact the drink she had imbibed prior to arriving seemed to be making matters worse as her stomach rolled under the strain of her nerves.

  
She knew very little about Melody from her own experience. Certainly she had heard Anders talk about her before, with a sense of reverence and awe that had always made Lilly curious to meet her, and even Justice had mentioned the queen a couple of times with respect and affection, but she had only met her personally a few days ago. She knew the woman was more easygoing than one would expect of royalty, that she seemed pleasant and level headed, that she had a decent sense of humor and a laugh that sounded like it was composed by a musician, but none of things helped her predict the outcome of this upcoming chat. Of course, it still had to be done. There was no way around it, really, and she couldn't risk waiting around for Anders to get to it, because if her reaction was at all unfavorable Lilly needed to know ahead of time. The Inquisition was on her side, had accepted Anders and all his faults, but would Melody be able to when she learned the truth?

  
She took a deep breath, exhaling as she forced her hand up to allow her knuckles to rap sharply against the wooden door. There was a muffled entreaty for entrance, so Lilly grabbed the handle and pushed, entering the room with as much resolve as she could muster. It was now or never, she thought.

  
Melody was sitting at the small desk in her chamber, a book open next to a stack of parchment she was apparently scribbling notes across. She smiled pleasantly, setting her quill down as she turned sideways in her chair to face her. “Hello, Lilly. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  
“Look, I need to know what you know.” Lilly blurted, wincing as the words tumbled out in a panicked rush.

  
Melody merely quirked an eyebrow, her demeanor remaining calm and cordial. “About?”

  
“About Anders. And Kirkwall. And...just, what do you know?” she bounced on the balls of her feet, biting her lip against spilling out anything else until Melody had a chance to answer.

  
“Not much, I'm afraid. I was only vaguely aware of what happened in Kirkwall. Someone blew up a chantry, from what I heard, and I _thought_ it was you until that lovely guard the other night set the record straight.” she answered amicably.

  
Lilly groaned involuntarily before her thoughts started verbalizing in a slightly frantic rush. “Haha, yeah, so funny story...well, no, actually it's a terrible story. Um...I really don't know how to explain all of this, and I'm positive Anders would kill me if he knew I were here...”

  
Melody held up a hand, forestalling further ranting. “Okay, why don't you take a breath and calm down, so that perhaps you can start making some sense?” there was a hint of laughter behind the words, but Lilly didn't know whether or not her amusement would remain once she got to the heart of the matter.

  
“Right. Sense. That might be hard, because I lived through it, and it _still_ doesn't make any sense” she let out a breath that bubbled with a slight giggle. “Anyways, that chantry that blew up? It wasn't me, it was Anders.”

  
Melody's eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. “ _Anders_? Anders the _spirit healer_? Loves cats, constantly cracking inappropriate jokes...you're telling me _that_ Anders blew up a chantry?”

  
“Well, sort of. Technically it was Justice, but not a lot of people get the distinction.” Lilly wrung her hands slightly, wishing there were an easier way to have this conversation.

  
“Justice? The spirit?” Melody blinked owlishly.

  
“Demon.” Lilly snapped, her resentment towards the entity boiling over in an instant. It may have been true that Justice had saved her more times than he had hurt her, but after everything the three of them had been through she couldn't bring herself to forgive him for all the pain he had caused.

  
“If we're talking about the same spirit I don't think it's fair to call him a demon. What does he have to do with anything?” Melody remained calm, a slight frown on her face as she processed what she was being told.

  
Lilly sighed, looking up at the ceiling as though there were answers in the dusty rafters. There were not enough words in her vocabulary to be able to explain this properly, and she cursed her ineffectiveness as much as her predicament. “Okay, excellent, you really don't know anything about it.” she started pacing, her eyes darting around the room to rest on just about anything other than the person she was talking to. “Anders _is_ Justice. Or, Justice is Anders now. I mean, they aren't the same, but they inhabit the same body, so everything that happened is kind of both of their faults. And mine. I mean, that's not important. What's important is that it was because of Justice that everything happened.” She stopped, her feet halting their stuttering path as she finally looked at Melody, who was looking at her as though she were dazed. “Say something.” she demanded, needing to know her thoughts about all this before she started rambling on about the intricacies of being in a relationship with a man sharing his mind with a terrorist spirit.

  
“I...Justice is _in_ Anders? He's possessed?”

  
Lilly swallowed and nodded, keeping her lips firmly pressed together to give the other woman a chance to react.

  
Melody cursed under her breath, shaking her head. “Of all the stupid, foolhardy...how did that even happen?” she asked.

  
“I don't know. Not really, anyways. He doesn't like to talk about it much.” Lilly answered honestly.

  
Melody crossed her arms over her chest, glaring, but Lilly got the sense she was glaring more at the situation than at Lilly herself. “And none of that explains why they blew up a chantry.”

  
“Justice wanted to free the mages. Through a series of _very_ unfortunate events he came to the conclusion that the only way to accomplish that was to make a sacrifice, to force the conflict to a head so that things could change.” Lilly drew in a breath, holding it as she watched the queen carefully.

  
Melody looked stunned, shaking her head again. “I can't believe it.” she chewed her lower lip, gazing at the floor intently as she reflected on her new found knowledge. After what felt like forever she glanced back up at Lilly, her expression guarded. “Why are you telling me this?”

  
“Look, you seem like a perfectly nice person, and I know you're queen and everything, and old friends with him, but Anders is...he's everything to me, and I need to know if you're going to do anything about him. People tend to want to kill abominations, and I know that's pretty much what you did in the circle tower in Ferelden, so I need to know where you are going to stand with him now that you know. I don't care if you're queen of the fucking universe, if you try to so much as split a hair on his perfect head I will _cut_ you.” she scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and trying not to loom threateningly over the seated woman. “Your majesty.” she added belatedly, a ludicrous addition of respect to her heavy handed threat.

  
Melody stared at her for a long time, her expression completely unreadable, before she shocked Lilly completely by bursting into a hearty fit of laughter. “I'm not going to hurt Anders.” she declared.

  
Lilly let her arms drop to the side, tilting her head as she watched Melody smile. “Well, that's certainly not the reaction I expected.”

  
“I mean, I might knock him upside the head for being an idiot, but he's obviously not your standard, run of the mill abomination.” Melody said.

  
“Well, he did blow up a chantry....” the quip was out of her mouth before Lilly could stop it and she cursed herself silently for her foolish tongue.

  
Melody quirked an eyebrow. “So you've mentioned.” she folded her hands in her lap and regarded Lilly curiously. “Tell me, why doesn't it bother _you_ that he's carrying around a spirit?”

  
Lilly laughed bitterly. “I wouldn't say it _doesn't_ bother me. I have a very complicated relationship with Justice, but I love Anders. With everything I am. And it's my personal mission to find a way to get him his life back, and to get Justice back in the fade where he belongs.”

  
Melody's gaze seemed to lose focus, her eyes seeing something in her memories as her expression became somewhat forlorn. “I think that was always what Justice wanted.”

  
“He's amenable to the idea, particularly now that the mages have been set free.” Lilly agreed, although she grimaced as she recalled his anger over what had happened at Weisshaupt. “At least he was until this business with the wardens started.”

  
Melody hesitated for a moment. “Do you...talk to him?”

  
“We have conversations in the fade, and sometimes he'll talk to me through Anders, or when he takes control of Anders he'll talk to me directly, although that scenario is considerably more rare. Anders doesn't like to let him assume the lead, as I'm sure you can understand.” she elaborated.

  
“Interesting. I knew someone else who shared their body with a spirit once, but she was never able to communicate with the spirit like that. I mean, she knew it was there, and I think they exchanged general ideas, and she could certainly call on its power, but I don't think you could ever consider the connections they had _conversations_.”

  
Lilly all but leaped at her for further information. “You knew someone like that? What happened to them? Can I talk to them?”

  
“She passed away.” Melody's shoulders sagged at the admission.

  
“Damnit.” Lilly glared at the ground before she realized how she must sound. “Sorry, I'm sorry for your loss and all that, I just don't have a lot of leads for information on this sort of thing.” she gave the queen an apologetic smile.

  
Melody returned the expression graciously. “She would have loved to help, if she were still around. I'm sorry I don't have anything else to offer you.”

  
“No, it's alright. Sorry I'm kind of an insensitive ass.” Lilly rubbed at the back of her neck self consciously.

  
Melody merely smiled and they lapsed into silence momentarily. Lilly was pleasantly surprised at how this conversation had progressed, and she now felt like she could understand why Anders held this woman in such high regard. Melody was someone Lilly could definitely see herself getting along with for a long time, which was a good feeling considering her list of friends was about a thousand times shorter than her list of enemies.

  
Melody cleared her throat pointedly. “So, can I assume you're not going to 'cut' me now?”

  
“As long as you promise not to try to murder my boyfriend.” Lilly grinned mischievously.

  
“You have my word.” she laughed as she bowed her head, placing her hand over her heart in mock reverence.

  
Lilly nodded curtly. “Good. Well, I would love to sit and chat, but I have a meeting with a Qunari that I am not going to miss this time around. See you later, Queenie.” she turned, waving to the woman and moving back towards the door as she snickered over the nickname.

  
“Later, Champ.” Melody replied without missing a beat, and Lilly knew it was the only nickname conceivably _worse_ than Queenie. She laughed and shook her head, knowing that this was certainly the beginning of a very interesting friendship.

 

***

 

Autumn adjusted her position, swinging her feet up on the couch so that they rested on Cullen's lap. He absentmindedly brought his hand to her shin, squeezing lightly without looking up from the book he was reading. She smiled quietly at the look of concentration on his face, absorbed in whatever interesting things he was finding in the tome. _Harrietta and the Enchanted Phylactery_  was a newer work of fiction Dorian had gifted to him, and she recalled he had summarized it as something along the lines of mages being taught in schools of magic when they were young by choice as opposed to being forced into a circle. Of course, Cullen likely enjoyed the plot of the young mage who was destined to fight an evil magister trying to take over the world more than he did the politics behind the work, but that didn't make it any less adorable at how enthusiastic he was about reading it.

  
His fingers traced lazy circles across her leg and she sighed contentedly before turning her attention back to her own book, a slightly dry account of the various attempted medicinal uses of lyrium over the years. She was trying to brush up on her background knowledge before Dagna revealed any of her research in the hopes that she might actually be able to understand some of the explanations this time. It was an excellent day for reading, the sky clouded over with heavy grey masses that were threatening either rain or snow. It was one of those days that just begged to be spent under a blanket with a steaming cup of tea, perusing the pages of books for adventure and knowledge while the world passed by at a lazy pace. She had often spent days like this growing up, enjoying the company of imaginary characters, and she had been delighted when she discovered Cullen had much the same hobby, although perhaps snuggling under the covers was a new aspect that could be attributed to her influence.

  
It took her a few moments to realize she had read the same paragraph five times without actually realizing what it said. Her mind seemed set to wander this afternoon, and no matter how many times she told herself to focus her brain seemed to have other ideas. She sighed, closing the book and tossing it onto the table next to the couch before pulling the soft blanket up around her shoulders.

  
Cullen glanced over at her and smiled, amused as always at her overly dramatic displays. “Not interesting?”

  
“Oh, it's interesting. It's just written in a way that makes me think the author might have had absolutely nothing better to do in their entire life than catalog a list of conditions and processes that ultimately led to nothing useful.” she wrinkled her nose slightly, wishing she could trade reading materials with him for awhile. She sat up, pulling the blanket over her head and moving underneath it, shuffling around until she was on the other side sitting in Cullen's lap, peeking out from under her fuzzy tent as he smirked down at her. He adjusted so she could sit more comfortably, wrapping an arm around her as she settled closer. “Read me yours, it _has_ to be more entertaining.”

  
“I'm in the middle!” he protested.

  
“I don't mind.” she tilted her head up and planted a quick kiss on the underside of his jaw. “I just want to listen to your voice for awhile.”

  
He rolled his eyes. “That's bound to be more boring than the textbook.”

  
She was about to argue with him over the merits of listening to him when he spoke, but the door to her chambers was thrown open and booted feet ran hastily up the stairs.

  
“Inquisitor!” Bryce called, seconds before his head popped up over the railing. His sandy colored hair caught the light filtering in through the windows, standing off kilter in several directions as though he had only recently taken off his helm. He stopped at the top of the stairs, a blush spreading beneath his freckles as he took in their rather cozy position.

  
Sighing heavily, Autumn sat up, letting the blanket fall into her lap. “Have you decided knocking was an unnecessary step when coming to find me, Bryce?”

  
His flush deepened and he gave her a belated salute. “No, ma'am, I just...they need you down at the gates immediately!”

  
The alarm in his tone had her jumping up quickly, the blanket and Cullen's book falling unceremoniously to the floor as he stood after her. “What is it?” she asked as she slipped her feet back into her boots, kneeling to tie the laces as fast as she could.

  
“Wardens. A whole troop of them, insisting they be let into the keep.” he replied gravely.

  
“Maker's breath.” Cullen swore, running his hand through his hair irritably. He grabbed his sword and buckled it around his waist while she pulled her daggers out from beneath the bed, strapping them to the sides of her belt in a rush.

  
“Did they say _why_ we should let them in the keep?” she asked as they all started racing down the steps. She took them two at a time, the men's longer legs keeping pace with her easily.

  
“To _search_.” Bryce informed her ominously, and she didn't feel the need to ask him any more questions. She would have them answered soon enough.

  
They kept up their brisk pace until she was halfway across the lower courtyard, where she opted so slow down and let her breathing even out. She slid her fingers through the tangles in her curls, adjusting the hair until she was reasonably certain she looked presentable. Next to her Cullen was fixing the set of his own clothes, his posture straightening as a broody scowl settled over his fine features. Bryce tossed his helmet back on, falling into a steady march that kept pace a respectable step in front of the couple, leading them to the gates.

  
When they finally rounded the corner and she caught sight of the warden retinue her heart dropped into her stomach for a moment. There were at least twenty men and women standing in silent formation, their armor catching the muted rays of sun working their way through the cloud cover above and glinting dangerously, the wings on their helms like jagged blades cutting away at the sky. At their front stood a massive man that was at least a head taller than the rest of them, looming over her guards ominously with a glare that could curdle milk. He had greasy looking, mouse brown hair, cropped short atop his head, and a wicked looking scar cutting across his face from his lower jaw to upper brow, half of his nose missing along the middle. He regarded her soldiers with disdain as they barred his entrance, their blades drawn but kept down at their sides. His own weapon, a massive great sword that looked to be made of dragonbone, remained secured to his back as he paced in front of them. He caught sight of her as she walked under the portcullis and his beady eyes narrowed in response.

  
“Inquisitor Trevelyan, I presume?” he asked.

  
“Inquisitor Rutherford.” Cullen corrected evenly, a smile that was somewhere between gracious and menacing plastered to his face.

  
The warden regarded him coolly for a moment before flicking his gaze back to her, the way he held his head making it obvious he was dismissing Cullen as unimportant. “I'm Commander Gaius Dervas of the Grey Wardens, and I believe a pair of fugitives we've been pursuing may have taken shelter in your keep. I insist you allow my men to search the premises.”

  
“Your _insistence_ is worth very little to me, ser, and I will unfortunately not be able to allow you _or_ your men within Skyhold at this time.” she said sweetly, giving him a smile that felt like honeyed deathroot as it slipped across her lips.

  
His frown deepened to an impressive scowl, a testament to how honed his facial muscles were to making that expression. “Tell me then, Inquisitor, are you a criminal or merely an imbecile?”

  
Cullen drew the sword at his belt, leveling the blade steadily in Gaius direction. “Watch your tongue, Warden.” he warned, his voice a low rumble filtered through the shards of his shattered patience.

  
She held out her hand, letting her fingers hover of the tip of his blade in a silent bid for him to back off. Gaius sneered at him, his eyes mocking as he watched Cullen obey the order. She could feel the anger and tension rolling off of Cullen and could practically hear the muscles in his jaw working as he restrained himself. She ignored it, for the time being, keeping her eyes locked in place on Gaius. “I'd rather like to think I'm neither, so if those are my only options I might just have to disappoint you.”

  
He narrowed his eyes at her, his lip curling upward in a snarl like a feral dog, the scars on his face making him look more beast than man. “Well, you've failed to show me any other possibilities with your actions so far. I can sense the warden within your walls, _Inquisitor_.” he mocked her title like it was a slur. “So either you are purposely harboring murderers, or you're too stupid to realize they're within. So I ask again, are you a criminal or an idiot?”

  
She forced herself to laugh even as the nerves coiled tightly in her stomach, small tendrils of fear wrapping around her resolve. She smiled broadly, giving him no indication of her internal struggle. She tilted her head, pretending to consider his question as she thought out her possible responses. He had said WARDEN, singular, so he couldn't tell how many were within, which was good. She couldn't let him find out about the queen's whereabouts, especially if things were as dire as they feared, but there was apparently no hiding the presence of at least ONE warden, which meant they wouldn't be able to deny Anders' presence.

  
“I suppose you could claim me to be a criminal, then, if you consider protecting my people from unfair prosecution a crime.” she said finally, shrugging her shoulders for added effect.

  
“Unfair prosecution? Are you aware they murdered no less than ten wardens before they left Weisshaupt?” he snapped, his indignation growing so great his cheeks were ruddy, the skin around the scars darkening to the same shade of an ugly bruise.

  
“I'm aware. I _wasn't_ aware the wardens condoned slavery, however.” she looked at her fingers, picking at a nail as though this were the most casual conversation she had partaken in all day.

  
He paused, considering her statement carefully. “Slavery?” his question was nearly a demand, his displeasure at needing clarification evident in the clipped utterance of the word.

  
“Well, that's certainly what I call it when you force someone into service they don't want to be in. Am I wrong? Cullen, what do you think?” she tilted her head to the side to address him.

  
He let out a chuckle that was so low she was sure she was the only one that could hear it, but the smile on his face was visible to all. “I believe you are correct, Inquisitor, but perhaps my opinion is biased. Shall we contact one of our scholars? We could certainly bring them out to debate the issue.”

  
“Hm, indeed. I suppose we should debate the issue of who is and is not a criminal, while we're at it, since there seems to be some confusion on that matter as well.” she turned back, focusing her gaze on Gaius again, whose face was so mottled and red he resembled an overripe fruit left too long in the sun. “How about it, Gaius? I'm sure we could spend a great many entertaining hours listing all of the ways you're wrong.” she dropped her voice slightly, so that he could not mistake her tone as anything less than an insult.

  
“Wardens have, and have always had, the right of conscription. Are you questioning the validity of the law, Inquisitor?” his tone was dangerously low, carrying oddly on the wind while all those around them seemed to strain to hear it.

  
“I question anything that threatens the safety of innocent people, Warden Commander.”

  
He held her gaze, their eyes connected in a contest of volition, the air around them so fraught with tension it was like to spark, snaps of energy igniting into a storm of will. “Inquisitor, you are interfering in warden matters. You have no authority to stand in our way.”

  
“Anders and Hawke are members of the Inquisition, ser. That puts them under my authority, and I'll die before I see my people handed over to anyone they don't want to be.”

  
“So you admit you harbor them, then?” he spat to the side, as though talking to her was distasteful to him, like a foul smear of bile in his mouth. “You're not just a criminal, you're a _stupid_ criminal. This will be the last time I ask you, hand them over.”

  
“Perhaps I wasn't clear before.” she mused, letting her words drip with venomous sweetness, slowly enunciating each syllable. “ _No_.”

  
“You realize you're declaring yourself an enemy to the wardens? We _will_ have them, and we will _take_ them if we must.” he growled, and in a flash he drew his weapon, swinging the broadsword until its gleaming tip was directly at her throat, so close she could feel the vibration of the metal as it came to a stop.

  
She held her ground, refusing to so much as flinch as she stared at him. She ignored the blade, ignored the hum of the forged death pointed at her, ignored the ring of weapons being drawn all around them. Instead of moving she smiled, slowly and deliberately, a grin she had used many times when she had faced enemies that had no chance, enemies who stood so mired in corruption they could not see the danger they were truly in. It was the smile of a predator guarding their territory, all teeth and warning, a final threat before she tore the throats out of those that would oppose her. It was the smile of the Inquisitor, and any man who saw it rarely lived to tell of its tale.

  
“You are welcome to _try_ , Warden, but I warn you, it may not work out in your favor.” she purred.

  
He glanced around, his eyes taking in every person wearing Inquisition colors with blades and bows aimed at him and his men. He was an aggressive man, an angry man, but she could see in the way his posture changed that he was not necessarily a _foolish_ man. He dropped his weapon, slipping it back into the straps on his back with a fluid motion. He glared at her, impotent fury barely contained behind the snarling curl of his lips.

  
“You've just declared war with the Wardens, Inquisitor. I hope you're prepared.” He turned to his men, waving that they should leave, a flurry of sheathing weapons following the command. He took three steps, his boots grinding against the stone as though he could stomp away the indignity she was putting him through, before he paused and half turned. “This is not the last you've heard of us, Inquisitor.”

  
She chose not to respond as he continued his retreat. She remained where she was, watching him leave, and it wasn't until she could no longer see them that she finally relaxed her posture, turning to Cullen with a worried glance. “Well, that went well.” she mumbled, and the lack of a smile on his face was enough to tell her he fully agreed.


	11. As Fast as You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody has a chat with Anders, Alistair meets the Right hand of the Divine, and Zevran gets handed some responsibility.

Melody stood leaning against one of the stone columns lining the garden, her weight pressing into the cold surface and slowly numbing her skin, even through the thick fabric of the sweater she wore. It was certainly not _warm_ in Skyhold, but it wasn't anything she wasn't used to, and it was certainly better than running into inclement weather on the road. She shivered slightly as the breeze picked up, brushing against her face as it ushered the clouds across the sky. It was oddly bright for a cloudy day, the sun forcing itself through the grey screen above to shine down on them, the color filtered out of it so that everything felt too bright and somewhat off kilter. She watched as Anders lay under the canopy of one of the trees, his back flat against the grass as his foot tapped idly on a gnarled root. Occasionally he would hum to himself, off key little notes that seemed to follow no particular tune, smiling as he went through a measure or two before letting the sound fade away. He looked remarkably happy, and not at all like a man that carried around a spirit, a being that had always been rather willful and angry.

  
Melody had always felt responsible for what had happened to Justice. She felt even more so responsible for what had happened to him after he left the fade, and now that she knew what had happened to him after she left Amaranthine she wondered if she had done enough to try and help him. Perhaps in her haste to search for Morrigan, and if she were honest her desire to return to her husband, she had neglected to give him the guidance he needed. If she had stayed behind in the Keep longer, would she have been able to stop Anders from fusing with him? Could she have found a better way?

  
She sighed, shaking her head and moving forward, tired of waiting and watching her old friend without getting to speak to him. Anders tilted his head up at her approach, and when he noticed who she was he sat up abruptly, his fingers tucking his hair behind his ears nervously. She gave him a warm smile, in part to set him at ease and in part because she simply couldn't help it, and she sat down next to him on the grass.

  
“Good afternoon, Anders.” she said, and it sounded too chipper even to her.

  
“Hey.” he croaked, grimacing as he cleared his throat. “Are you enjoying your stay with the Inquisition?”

  
“I'll enjoy it better when Alistair arrives.” she glanced up at the sky, squinting at the bright light through the leaves swaying in the wind. “So...should I say hello to Justice as well?”

  
She didn't look at him, but she heard him sputter slightly in response. “I uh...how did you know?”

  
She grinned and laughed. “Your girlfriend had a pleasant chat with me about it.”

  
“Lilly?” he blinked in confusion.

  
Melody looked at him again, laughing at the completely innocent expression on his face. “She's quite protective of you. She wanted to make sure I wasn't going to hurt you if I found out about your...predicament.”

  
His brows came together as he frowned. “She shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry. I hope she didn't do anything to offend you.”

  
Melody waved away his apology. “She _did_ threaten to cut me, but I think, were our roles reversed, I might have done the same thing.”

  
“She can be a bit... _impossible_ at times.” he shook his head, but he couldn't quite suppress the smile spreading across his face. His brown eyes shone with affection, and Melody could tell without needing to ask that he loved her. She had seen the same look in Lilly's eyes, and it was good to know they felt the same way about each other. Absently she wondered if she got that look on her own face when she thought of Alistair, although lately the only thing she could feel when she thought of him was a sharp stab of pain and fear, his absence hurting like a physical piece of her had been removed and placed in danger.

  
“I'm glad you found someone.” she told him. “Wasn't that one of the things you said you always wanted? How did you put it, 'a pretty girl, a decent meal, and the right to shoot lightning at fools'? I would say she certainly qualifies as pretty.”

  
He laughed deeply. “I'd forgotten about that. Now that the circles are gone I could actually have all of those things...it's a shame it just isn't enough anymore.” he looked down at the grass, the endless amounts of sadness she had noticed in him when he had first arrived at Skyhold returning and seeming to weigh him down all at once. Melody used to think that love was enough, enough to see people through whatever dark path they had to walk. It had been many years since she had been the young girl facing down the blight, and in that time she had learned that love wasn't always just what the heroes needed. It could drive away the shadows at times, keep the heart warm when the cold would see it frozen, but love wasn't enough to right all of the wrongs in the world, no matter how much they might wish it. Sadness still found its way into the cracks of the soul, whittling away at their positive outlooks as until it was hard to ever see the silver lining cresting over the dark horizon. Love might save them sometimes, but the world had little patience for happily ever afters, and love was not enough to stop time from moving past the endings all the stories glorified, the last page of the book never where the tale truly ended.

  
“What happened?” she asked him, her voice low and soft and entirely too sad.

  
He shrugged, snapping off blades of grass and tossing them lightly away from him while he avoided her gaze. “Things weren't exactly great after you left. Neither Justice or myself had an easy time dealing with the man who was in charge in your stead. I wanted to leave, to go do something to help the mages, and Justice wanted to help. I wanted to help _him_ too. It's not like that body was going to last forever, and he needed a new solution...we thought that it was a good idea, at the time.”

  
“How? How could either of you think sharing a body could ever work?” her tone was only slightly reproachful, a gentle admonishment of what she considered one of the world's stupidest ideas.

  
“We were friends. Besides, it's not as though there were a ton of options for a spirit inhabiting a rotting corpse and a mage who was going to be on the run for the thousandth time in his life.”

  
She sighed heavily, positive that another solution could have existed, but resolved to let the matter drop. Neither of them could change the past now, and there was no sense harping on a regret he obviously already felt keenly. “So, how did it come to...to the chantry?”

  
“I wasn't good enough.” his voice shook with the effort it was taking him to maintain control over his emotions. “Justice...when we joined it changed him. He became something ELSE, because my mind was too clouded with hatred, too caught up on personal slights. He isn't the same thing he was before, and over time he grew more and more...twisted. I don't know exactly how it got to the point where we thought it was necessary to do what we did. I don't know where he ends and I begin, or which one of us was more responsible.” he smiled bitterly, the dark circles under his eyes standing out against his pale skin as the expression seemed to accentuate the misery she saw within him. “Lilly insists it was Justice who did all those terrible things, but I don't have the faith in myself that she does.”

  
Melody leaned back on her hands, watching a bird hop cheerily from branch to branch in a verdant bush several paces away, oblivious to the struggles of the complicated humans across the yard. “I knew both of you. You may not be able to tell the two of you apart, but I think I still can, at least to a degree, and I don't believe you would have ever considered doing something like that. That kind of drastic measure sounds like something Justice would come up with.” she took a breath, the cold air bracing as it rushed into her lungs. “Just because you're in the same body doesn't make you the same person. That's not how souls work. It might be confusing, but you are still _you_ , Anders.”

  
Anders' smile was grim. “You sound like Lilly.”

  
“Perhaps you should listen to her then, she clearly has impeccable sense.” Melody responded archly.

  
“You both have more faith in me than I deserve.” he said. For a long moment neither of them said anything more, watching the sunlight shift across the ground as the clouds passed overhead, changing hues as the masses thinned in patches. “He wants to know if he's disappointed you.” he said, timid in a way that was odd coming from the outgoing man she once knew.

  
She looked at him, eyeing him carefully, as if she would be able to look through him and see into Justice himself, see the spirit that had been forced into an existence foreign and strange and altogether unfair to him. Perhaps she could, if she tried long enough, if she really wished to speak with him after all she knew now. It wasn't as if she knew how this kind of possession really worked. Even with Connor she had been dealing with one or the other, never both entities at the same time. Could Justice see her now through Anders' eyes, see the resentment within her over what had come to pass? Could he see the guilt she carried over allowing herself to get caught up in a life that had left him behind, possibly when he had needed her most? But then, if Anders was asking on his behalf, he couldn't possibly know. If Justice saw her, he still couldn't understand the social cues required to comprehend all the feelings behind one long suffering gaze. “Yes.” she said finally. “Yes, he has disappointed me. Though, no more than I have disappointed myself.”

  
Anders winced, his eyes losing focus as he seemed to be listening to something she couldn't hear. When he looked back his eyes were heavy with the strain of years spent existing as two people, two souls that were so fundamentally different that they were slowly tearing each other apart. She could see it in the somberness that hovered around him like a black cloud, portending doom and anguish for all those that would dare draw near. It was no wonder Lilly looked like a woman constantly pulling those she loved back from the edge of the void, because that was exactly what she was doing with Anders, likely over and over again. Melody could tell they were a lifeline to each other, that the thread that connected them kept them both tethered in place, and that it had been this way between them for some time. Whatever their story was, whatever the details were that she could never possibly know, it was apparent their tale was a sad one, and she ached to be able to help them write a happier ending, or even a few chapters that could ease the burden on their hearts.

  
“He's upset. He always did hold you in very high regard.” Anders announced.

  
She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing back and forth in a vain effort to convey how sorry she was for what had happened to him. Perhaps both Anders and Justice would be able to sense her remorse. “One of these days I hope I can help you both get out of this mess.”

  
He opened his mouth to reply but snapped it shut as his eyes were drawn upward towards the sound of approaching footsteps. Melody turned and saw Autumn jogging towards them, her jaw set in a way that let them know instantly something had happened.

“What is it?” Anders asked her, standing up and brushing the grass off of his robes. He held out his hand and helped Melody scramble to her own feet as she tried to read Autumn's posture. She was worried, that much was obvious, and Melody found herself silently willing whatever bad news she brought to not be about Alistair.

  
“The Wardens came looking for you, and I think they might have just declared war against the Inquisition.” Autumn told him. She kept her voice low so as not to let the words carry to the few others milling around the garden.

  
“War?” Melody gasped. “Wardens aren't supposed to be able to do that...we're supposed to stay out of politics.” she hissed.

  
“Well, apparently they've changed their minds. Commander ass-hat has promised to come back with an army to take Anders and Hawke back to Weisshaupt.”

  
Melody sucked in a frigid breath, clenching her fist until her nails dug into her palm. “ _What_?” she whispered furiously. “That's absurd.”

  
“I had several more colorful words for it.” Autumn replied sardonically. “Good news is they didn't seem to know we had more than the one warden running around, so you're whereabouts are still secure, and so will Alistair's when he arrives.”

  
“What are you going to do?” Melody inquired.

  
Autumn shrugged, tilting her head from side to side as she stretched the taught muscles in her neck. “Prepare for war, I suppose. We're having an impromptu meeting in the war room, you should both join us.” she nodded and turned, striding back towards the entrance to the main hall. Melody followed, taking a few steps before she heard Anders make an odd sound. She looked over, catching him just as he seemed to stumble against the tree they had just been laying under, a hand clutching at his chest as he took a large gulp of air, like a man emerging from too long underwater and starving for breath.

  
“Anders?” she asked him, stopping and half turning to give him a hand if needed.

  
He closed his eyes and stood up straight, and she couldn't tell if she saw a tremor pass through him or if it was a trick of the strange light filtering through the sky. “I'm fine. Let's go, before we end up keeping the rest of them waiting.” he said. His voice was strong and even, sounding like he would at any other time, so Melody decided to let the strange episode go. Perhaps he had just stumbled, or perhaps he was merely upset over the news they had just heard. In any case, he strode forward with unerring purpose, and if there was anything to worry about she would have to address it later, as there were more important things to discuss for the time being.

 

***

 

The letter he was staring at wasn't important. It was the same type of letter he wrote almost a thousand times a day, his sentences blocked out and littered with words that were overly gilded and hardly sincere. He would have liked to be ignoring the task entirely, pushing everything off until morning in favor of a good night's rest, but the messengers of the Divine had arrived, and he might as well try to get some work done while they were shown back to his office. His back ached, the muscles throbbing in complaint against the long hours he had already spent today in moderately uncomfortable chairs hunched over documents that weren't nearly interesting enough to make the strain worth it, but he ignored it, as he always did, in favor of trying to finish this before he was interrupted by his “urgent” guests. As he scrawled another platitude across the page he found himself thinking, for perhaps the millionth time, that he was useless at this, and Melody should have never left it all to him. What good was having a strong, gifted, diplomatic wife if she was just going to run off and have adventures without him and leave all of the unsavory chores behind?

  
And no matter how many times he thought about it, even when trying to make a joke in his own head, he still felt that now horribly familiar tug at his heart and the awful, world shattering fear that he might never get to see her again.

  
He shook the cheerless thoughts out of his head as the room echoed with the sounds of the firm knock. “Enter.” he ordered.

  
The door swung open and one of his guards ushered in the messengers, a lovely looking knight and a handsome man in mage robes, both of them with dark hair and slightly grim expressions, although there was a smile twinkling in the man's eyes, even if his lips remained resolutely still. It was actually possible he WAS smiling slightly, now that Alistair was looking carefully, but the generous beard around his jaw kept the movement well hidden.

  
Alistair nodded so that the guard would leave the room, and once the door was closed again he smiled to the waiting pair. “So, I understand the Divine has some urgent message for me that couldn't possibly wait until a more civilized hour?” he leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers around the back of his head as he waited for a response.

  
“We have a letter from your wife.” the woman said tersely.

  
Alistair shot up out of the chair so fast it toppled over, clattering against the ground even as he leaned forward on the desk, the breath disappearing form his lungs. “What?” he asked, almost not daring to believe he had heard her correctly. It had been over a year since her last letter...could this mean Leliana had seen her? He swallowed the onslaught of questions battering against the confines of his head and looked expectantly at the messenger. The knight handed over a scroll sealed with the Inquisition's emblem pressed into the thick wax. He glanced questioningly at her as he broke open the letter, unrolling it with hands that shook far more prominently than he would have liked.

 

_My love,_  
_I would like to spend a thousand pages worth of words talking about how much I miss you, but I have neither the gift for language that requires, nor the time to execute such a task. As it is I will have to be brief, and hope you will forgive me for it later._  
_Something is happening with the wardens, and you are in great danger in Denerim. I myself am safe for the time being, but I cannot travel to come get you, as much as I might like to. You need to get to Skyhold, where the Inquisition can protect us both._  
_According to a new friend of mine, you should have some guests currently staying in the palace with you. You are to have them accompany you here, to ensure you arrive safely. If they complain about this arrangement tell them Hawke said “shut up and do it”, and she assures me that will do the trick._  
_Needless to say you need to leave in secret, and you can't tell anyone outside of the Inquisition's people or Leliana's people where you are going. Don't trust anyone else. I know this is short notice but there's nothing we can do, you need to drop everything and leave as soon as possible._  
_I'm waiting for you here, and I won't be going anywhere anytime soon. Stay safe and get here as fast as you can._  
_I love you with all my heart._  
_-Melody_

He read the letter three more times before folding it up and tucking it into his breast pocket, squashing the urge to sigh like a lovesick maiden over the prospect of seeing his wife again. “Thank you.” he told the messengers. “You've done a great service delivering this to me.”

  
The man cleared his throat dramatically just as Alistair was about to dismiss them. “Forgive me, your majesty, but we didn't come here _just_ to deliver the message.” he grinned and Alistair caught the knight starting to roll her eyes before she remembered herself and resolutely returned her gaze to himself.

  
“Oh?” he asked them pointedly.

  
“Your majesty, allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Evangeline de Brassard, Right Hand to the Divine, and this is my companion Rhys. We've been instructed to deliver that message to you, as well as escort you back to Skyhold and ensure you reach the destination as quickly, and safely, as possible.” Evangeline said crisply while Rhys gave a somewhat facetious bow behind her.

  
“Ah, Leliana believes I need additional babysitters?” he asked them, eliciting a hearty laugh from Rhys.

  
“Well, a few extra guards couldn't hurt, could it?” he asked. Alistair couldn’t help but smirk at him.

  
“I hope you don't mind a little insanity then, because my other bodyguards fall _well_ into that category.”

  
Alistair was surprised when Evangeline cracked a smile in response, her elegant cheekbones lifting in an expression that took years off of her face. “I can assure you, we are no strangers to a little madness.”

 

***

 

“Why do I get the feeling we are about to be roped into some elaborate conspiracy that will ensure I waste a great deal of my precious time?” Lessa asked him as they crept through the halls of the palace. None of the torches were lit, and only a few dim candles remained to guide their way, although their elven eyes could see well enough in the sparse light.

  
Zevran rolled said elven eyes as she smirked at him. “Did you have someplace better to be? Were you not just biding all of that precious time anyhow?” he retorted.

  
She chuckled, a sound that never failed to make him feel like he was being excessively mocked without being able to understand the joke. “I will concede your point, my stabbity friend. Perhaps this will at least be amusing.”

  
“Anything that amuses you is something normal people should turn and run from.” he added.

  
“And yet here we are.” she gestured to the door they had arrived at, light pooling into the dark hallway from the space at the bottom, spilling over from the room beyond.

  
“Shall we see what conspiracy awaits?” he asked her, placing his hand on the wood and raising a brow in her direction. Utharevas eyes glinted in the dark, picking up on light even his elven eyes couldn't see and reflecting it back like candles shuttered within glass cases. He clicked his beak quietly, wholly unconcerned to be tagging along and looking mildly bored, if an owl could even be bored.

  
“After you.” her lips seemed permanently quirked upward in that infuriatingly smug, self satisfied smile. He resisted the urge to scowl at her as he pushed on the wood, opening it and popping his head in experimentally to ensure he was not about to be attacked before swinging it wide enough to walk through.

  
He recognized Alistair standing at the head of the table within, and was stunned to realize his was not the only familiar face among the group gathered.

  
“Zevvy, is that you?” Isabela cried, her sonorous voice brimming with delight.

  
“Bellisimo Bela!” he said, striding into the room in full and opening his arms. The dark, buxom woman immediately squealed and raced into his arms, her rather large hat knocking to the side slightly as she crushed him in an immense hug. Behind her a pair of elves were grinning from ear to ear, one of them wearing standard vallaslin and the other covered in slightly eccentric markings that were reminiscent of vallaslin but done differently. On the other side of the table was a woman in heavy armor and a chiseled looking man in mage robes.

  
“I see some of you already know Zevran.” Alistair drawled, raising an eyebrow at him.

  
“Indeed. It's good to see you still have an irrational fear of pants, Bela.” Zevran replied, slipping his hands lower onto her hips so that his fingers skirted the bare flesh below her tunic. She laughed and slapped his hands away, dancing out of his reach playfully.

  
“Ah, ah. Not in front of the husband!” she sang while waving her index finger back and forth in front of her face. Zevran glanced up sharply and caught the grin on the male elf's face turning into something slightly predatory. He dipped his head in an apology, which the pale haired beauty accepted graciously, a nod of his own casting his hair across his bright green eyes for a moment.

  
“So, Alistair, have you summoned me to partake in the world's most exciting orgy, or merely to torture me with this room full of very attractive people?” Zevran said airily, lazily sauntering up to the table and grinning at everyone present.

  
Alistair blushed – because he ALWAYS blushed – and cleared his throat. “Better! I got word from Melody!” he beamed, and his embarrassment seemed to dissolve under the onslaught of pure joy pouring out of him.

  
Zevran straightened, his own interest considerably heightened now. “She is alright then?” he asked. He already knew the answer, Alistair would never look so cheery if the answer were anything but yes, but he needed to hear it, out loud, just to set his own mind at ease. His heart did a little flip in his chest at the idea that his friend was okay, alive and well even after all these years.

  
“As far as I know she's whole, healthy, and waiting for me.” he replied,

  
Zevran clapped his hands together enthusiastically. “Fantastic news! Where is she waiting?”

  
“Er, that part's the bad news, actually. Now that we're all here, however, I think I can explain.”

  
Zevran listened carefully as Alistair laid out what he knew for them, which unfortunately wasn't much. Something terrible was happening with the wardens, which was hardly surprising considering they had been the source of a great many illicit dealings lately. Melody was with the Inquisition, which was excellent news in Zevran's opinion. If there had ever been a woman that could be as deadly as Melody, it was Autumn, so placing them in the same castle seemed almost like defensive overkill. The most worrisome part of the news was that Alistair was going to be leaving, that he was in danger from the wardens somehow and needed to get to Skyhold immediately. Zevran furrowed his brows as he listened to the king outline the plan to get him there, traveling with Isabela and her two companions, introduced as Merrill and Fenris, as well as the Right Hand of the Divine and her mage counterpart, Evangeline and Rhys. Which left Zevran and Lessa out of the picture, and wondering what exactly they were doing there, if they hadn't been asked to join the guard retinue.

  
“So, Golden Boy, if you already have your trusty band of merry misfits, why call us here?” Lessa asked smoothly, voicing the question in Zevran's head before he had a chance to.

  
“Well, Dark and Creepy Woman, my leaving will mean both myself and Melody will be gone, and I need someone I can trust to watch over Denerim in our stead.” Alistair replied with a cheeky grin as Lessa. Utharevas chittered irritably, but Lessa's face remained calm and faintly bored.

  
“Wait, what exactly do you expect me to do my friend? Seduce the dignitaries so that they don't notice you've gone?” Zevran asked him, slightly alarmed at the prospect of being responsible for a kingdom.

  
Alistair let out a full throated laugh, a hand clutching at his stomach. “Maker NO, although I can't say that wouldn't be the funniest thing I've ever seen. No, I need you to be my eyes and ears, to pass along reliable information and act out any commands I can give. Eamon will still be here for all of the official business, but if things are bad enough that I have to flee I think it might be wise to have someone I trust to stay behind and watch for the danger.”

  
“Ah, _that_ I think I can handle.” Zevran replied, more relieved than he was willing to admit out loud that he was not going to be handed any official duties.

  
“So, he gets to stay behind while we have to trek through the backwoods of dog country? I think we got lousy end of this bargain.” Isabela groused, adjusting her ridiculous hat.

  
“It can't be worse than Kirkwall.” Fenris mused, smiling at her with a surprising degree of warmth.

  
“I like dogs. Will we be taking any?” Merrill asked, her large eyes bright with excitement.

  
Alistair ignored them and looked at Evangeline and Rhys, grinning. “I warned you.” he said in a sing song voice.

  
Rhys and Evangeline exchanged a look but didn't say anything.

  
“When do we leave?” Fenris asked, and Zevran could tell this was a man who had been cooped up in the palace longer than he would have liked, his posture speaking of a warrior too long without a fight, too long since his blood had been stirred by battle.

  
“Before sunrise. Have everything ready, and I'll meet you in the stables.” Alistair told them, and Zevran had a feeling his time in Denerim was going to get infinitely more interesting once they had gone.


	12. A day in the Life of Bryce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we follow Bryce around for the day.

Bryce woke well before the dawn could be seen creeping over the horizon. He sat up in his cot, his internal clock rousing him long before his roommates would rise for their own shifts, Jim still snoring softly against his nearly flattened pillow. He scrubbed at his face, his palms scraping over the light scruff of beard that had grown along his jaw overnight, his fingers digging at his scalp and sending his carrot colored hair careening in different directions. He stifled the yawn working its way out of his throat as he threw the covers off his legs, swinging them over the side of the bed so that his feet made contact with the icy floor. He shivered, despite being used to the cold, and stood to stretch.

  
He moved with practiced efficiency as he readied for the day, hopping into his clothes as he mentally ran through the things he needed to do, making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything as he shaved away his stubble over the basin of water in the room and ran a comb through his hair. A day in the life of Bryce Friedman was a day filled to the brim with a thousand minute details, details many other scouts would forget. But then, his attention to those things was what got him noticed by Lady Sera, and subsequently the Inquisitor, and it just wasn't in his nature to start slacking off just because he'd gotten a little recognition. There were things he did throughout his day that he knew no other soldier thought of, and he considered it his personal mission to keep up with such things.

  
He grabbed his torch and lit it before he left his room, his breath misting past his lips in the cold morning air, ice cold drizzle dropping from the sky to softly dust his skin and hair and make the fire he carried sizzle. The grass on the ground was covered in a million tiny droplets, glittering eerily as they caught the light from his torch, giving the impression that a thousand creatures with miniscule little eyes watched his every movement. He ignored the ominous quality of the scene and strode forward evenly, knowing he had only a short window of time before the Commander would wake.

  
As he always did, he made his way up the steps on the battlements and to Commander Cullen's office. The guards on patrol gave him polite nods as he passed them, which he returned silently, all of them preferring to keep the greetings wordless so as not to accidentally wake one of Skyhold's many inhabitants before they needed to. Particularly not any members of the inner circle, who were known to occasionally sleep in odd places, and would frequently threaten death and dismemberment when awoken needlessly. Some of them were early risers, some of them were not, but _none_ of them appreciated interruptions of any kind when they were slumbering.

  
Bryce opened the door to the office and slipped in, making sure to keep quiet just in case anyone was in the loft. Commander Cullen never slept here anymore, hadn't for a long time, but Bryce had once found Cole curled up at the top of the ladder, and after they had both scared each other half to death he had resolved to never assume the rooms were empty again. He grabbed the stack of reports and missives that he knew the Commander would be requesting and left through the opposite exit, making his way towards the kitchens, which would be just finishing the first batch of today's baking.

  
When he opened the door he was hit with the heavenly smell of baked goods, buttery crusts and sugary fillings wafting over his senses. He took a fraction of a second to enjoy the scent, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. _This_ was always his favorite moment of the morning. Nothing ever smelled better than the fresh confections on their maiden voyage through the ovens, untainted by the smells of other foods as it was still too early for the cooks to begin preparing breakfast or doing any prep work for any of the other meals throughout the day. Arriving at this time of day was an excellent way to shake the last dregs of sleepiness from his mind, and it always managed to put a slight bounce in his step afterward.

  
The cooks had already set out a tray of breakfast items, along with a steaming pot of tea in one of the specially insulated kettles that were enchanted to keep the liquid warm for longer periods of time. Dagna swore she had seen the empress use something like it in Orlais once, and had insisted on crafting a small batch of them for use around Skyhold. The Arcanist liked to say that drinking cold tea ruined theories, and Bryce didn't have the wherewithal to argue. He grabbed the tray, placing the stack of messages neatly on the side and made his way upstairs towards his station.

  
The first time Bryce had been assigned outside the Inquisitor's quarters had been a morning much like this, and he had nearly fallen down the stairs in surprise when the Commander had opened the door and sent him to fetch work from his office. Of course, he had known that the Commander and the Inquisitor were in a relationship, but he hadn't quite expected to see him _there_ , in her room before the sunlight. He'd gotten over the shock on his trip to the office, and upon reflecting that the Commander had looked exhausted had taken the initiative to grab a tray of breakfast on his way back. The man had looked so grateful when Bryce returned bearing the treats that he had sworn to do it again whenever he had the same post. As time went on he got to the point where he would grab the missives and breakfast before he even got there, knowing that it wouldn't be long before the Commander was up and ready to work while the Inquisitor slept in a little longer.

  
Outside of the room he set the tray on the table that had been brought up just for this purpose and took up his post, standing at attention and awaiting the telltale creak of the knob that would signal that the Commander was awake. Almost like clockwork the door cracked open and Cullen poked his head out, his hair tussled but his eyes alert. He gave Bryce a warm smile when he saw the tray, shaking his head slightly in disbelief, always surprised that he had remembered the little ritual. Bryce handed it off to him with a small salute, and the Commander wordlessly thanked him, both of them keeping quiet so as not to wake the Inquisitor. The door shut again and Bryce resumed his rigid pose to await the next portion of his day, which would start when the Commander left to work in his own office. He took several messages that were brought up for the Inquisitor, tucking them under his arm to deliver them when she was awake. He knew the couple liked to spend a few moments in the morning alone together, and Bryce was happy to give them a little time to enjoy the peace and quiet before they had to attend to their duties in earnest. There weren't many couples in the world that could claim as much responsibility as they did, and Bryce thought it only fair that their morning hours be given at least a modicum of respect, allowing them to wake up like a husband and wife had every right to wake up, and enjoy each other’s company.

  
He wasn't waiting long before Cullen was out the door and down the stairs, a curt nod in his direction before he was passing him by, his face set in the same determined mask he always wore when his mind was thinking about business. There was a lot for them to do now that things seemed to be going wrong with the wardens, and both the Commander and Inquisitor were busier than they had been in a long time. Bryce waited a few minutes, giving the Inquisitor time to get dressed, before he knocked smartly on the door. Her muffled response ushered him inside and he swung it open, marching up the stairs with purpose.

  
The Inquisitor was at her desk, dressed in a sky blue summer dress with a piece of pastry hanging out of her mouth as her eyes focused on the paperwork in front of her. Her hair was brushed so that her wild curls were somewhat tamed, and she had one of the throw blankets from the couch wrapped around her shoulder to keep out the morning chill. The sun was just cresting over the horizon and the blushing orange rays caught the reds in her hair, making her look like a beacon of the dawn, although the crumbs falling from her breakfast as she chewed spoiled the majesty of the image somewhat. She glanced up as he reached to top of the stairs and plucked the pastry out of her mouth, grinning widely at him.

  
“Good morning, Bryce.” she said cheerily.

  
“Good morning, Inquisitor.” he replied, setting the stack of letters in front of her.

  
She picked up one of the envelopes, opening it with a practiced flick of her finger and pulling out the contents. “So, any interesting rumors I haven't heard yet?” she asked him absently, reading over the message as she sipped at her steaming tea.

  
“Word is Lady Cassandra and the lyrium researcher Bianca haven't been getting along. Don't know as anything serious has happened yet, but I've heard a few people say when the pair happen to be in the same room the tension gets thick enough to choke on. There's also talk about Master Anders. Some folks are saying he doesn't look well, they're worried about his health. I expect it's nothing more than stress, but you would likely know more about it than I would.” he recited.

  
She set her teacup down, frowning at him. “Hm. He has been under a lot of strain lately. I'll have Vivienne make him something fortifying and Lilly can slip it in his drinks.” she pulled out a blank sheet of parchment as she talked, rummaging around briefly before she found her quill. Realizing she had spoken out loud she looked up sharply. “Don't repeat that to anybody.”

  
Bryce chuckled. “You should know me better than that by now, ma'am.”

  
“I knew there was a reason I chose you!” she laughed. “Give me a moment, let me write these out and then I'll have you deliver them. You can wait on the couch.” she pointed one finger towards the seat as she started writing out her messages with her other hand. Knowing better than to argue by now, Bryce went ahead and took a seat, although he kept himself from getting too comfortable, trying to keep some sense of propriety. He waited patiently, watching the sky turn slowly from the lavender predawn to the warm gold of a new day, the only sound in the room the scratch of the tip of the quill against the parchment and the occasional grumble as she scratched something out.

  
After some time had passed she cleared her throat, tapping the now packaged messages to straighten them as he stood and approached the desk.

  
“Okay, I have messages here for Josie, Varric, Vivienne, and Dagna. Deliver them in whatever order you like, and go ahead and check to see if they want to reply before moving off so we can save some other messenger having to run around later.” she told him, handing everything off.

  
He saluted. “At your order, Inquisitor.”

  
He caught the small smirk on her lips before he spun on his heel, moving briskly down the stairs to deliver the collection of messages.

 

***

 

Josephine let out a small wail of despair after reading the message Bryce handed her. Bryce tried not to smile as the little Antivan started pacing a small pathway in front of her desk.

  
“Oh, she acts as though I'm throwing a grand ball in his honor! I know the king is coming so that we can provide him safe harbor, but surely a small ceremony is appropriate!” she huffed, talking more to herself than anything else. Bryce wisely choose to remain silent. “Hm, I suppose I won't win this argument will I?” she mused.

  
“If I may offer, ma'am, the Inquisitor likely wouldn't object to a private dinner amongst the leaders of the Inquisition and the royalty. It could serve as an honorable welcome without causing enough fuss to set any of the politically disinterested on edge.” he said, knowing full well that anything more grand would likely send the Inquisitor into a small fit, but anything smaller would leave the ambassador despondent over the lost diplomacy.

  
Josephine turned to him, regarding him with surprise. “That is a good idea...” she pulled a small notepad off of her desk, scribbling a note on it with such speed Bryce often wondered how her handwriting always remained so neat and legible. She ripped the paper off the pad and handed it to him with a small flourish. “Give her this, and tell her one of these days I'm going to steal you and make you MY personal assistant.” she said warmly.

  
He nodded his head politely. “I'll let her know, Lady Montilyet, but I suspect her response will not be nearly as polite as your threat.”

  
The ambassador's delighted laugh followed him out of the room, and Bryce considered it a small victory as he moved on to the next destination.

 

***

 

Varric scowled while he read the message, shaking his head before he folded it back up and set it on the table. He eyed Bryce warily as he scratched the stubble beneath his chin.

  
“Have you read this?” he asked, waving at the letter.

  
“No, ser.” Bryce answered with no small amount of trepidation.

  
“Well, our illustrious leader has seen fit to ask me if I can keep Bianca ' _contained'_  so that she doesn't stir up any trouble.” he groused, making air quotes with his fingers as he spoke. “What exactly am I supposed to do? Bianca is a trouble walking around on two short, perky legs. I told Hummingbird it was a bad idea to bring her here, but does anybody ever listen to the dwarf?” Bryce opened his mouth to answer but Varric plowed on, blithely unaware that his audience had anything to say. “Of course not. How do I always end up in the middle of this shit?”

  
“Well, ser, if you don't mind me saying so, you could certainly remind the Inquisitor who it was that requested lady Bianca's presence at Skyhold, and perhaps suggest that they should be the ones to hold more responsibility for her whereabouts than you would.” Bryce offered primly.

  
Varric stared at him for a moment before he burst out into laughter. “You're alright kid. That's a good one. Hang on, let me write that down.” he yanked one of his quills off the table and scribbled something on the back of the note Bryce had delivered to him, handing it over when he was done. “There, give her that. Hopefully I won't get blamed when Bianca drives someone to murder, because it's bound to happen sooner or later.”

  
“I hope not, ser.” Bryce said somberly as he gave Varric a stately salute. Varric merely waved him off, grumbling quietly about how Bianca would be the death of him under his breath. Bryce chuckled to himself as he left, trying very hard not to picture what it would look like if Bianca and the Seeker actually _did_ get into a fight.

 

***

 

Madame de Fer always made him nervous, particularly after she had taken up her post as the spymaster. She was always intimidating, with eyes that seemed to look right through a person to see everything in their soul spread out before her, but now that she was spymaster he knew that she likely actually _knew_ everything that there was to know about him, and those eyes were much more ominous when the sensation could be considered factual. He stood stiffly at attention while she read over the missive the Inquisitor had sent her, one hand resting lightly on her desk as though poised for action, like a beautiful bird ready to leap into flight at a moment’s notice. Even the crows in the rookery seemed tense in her presence, the birds quietly watching or preening, their calls far less frequent while she was at her station.

  
“Hm. Tell me ser Friedman, do you know if the Commander has approved of this idea, or is our dear Inquisitor intending that I talk to him about borrowing his troops myself?” she asked him.

  
“Uh...” Bryce swallowed, trying his very best to keep the next words out of his mouth from rushing out in a boyish stammer. “I'm not sure as to what the missive says, Madame.”

  
“You don't read them?” her eyebrows rose as she regarded him with surprise. “Interesting.” her steely eyes were devouring him slowly as she stared, a long, uncomfortable eternity passing as she seemed to judge Bryce, as though he were a particularly interesting gown she was considering adding to her wardrobe. “She would ferret out the one man more loyal than he was curious.” she said finally, her voice the perfect mix of derision and admiration.

  
“Um...I'm sorry?” he managed, unsure if he was being insulted or complimented.

  
She smiled magnanimously. “It's no matter, my dear. Tell the Inquisitor I will speak with the Commander about training some of his troops for scout work, and that I agree that it's a lovely idea. Should the wardens make any moves within our jurisdiction we will know about it immediately. Oh, and let her know I will have the potions ready for Lady Hawke as soon as I am able. I trust you can relay that without my needing to spell it out on paper?”

  
“Of course, Madame de Fer.” he replied with a salute, feeling almost as if the request was also somehow a threat. Then again, everything out of Vivienne's mouth seemed to have an underlying warning of some kind, so there likely _was_ a threat somewhere in there that he just didn’t have the time or bravery to dig out. “Will that be all, my lady?”

  
“Yes, dear. Run along now, I'm sure you have other duties to attend.” she flicked a perfectly manicured hand at him and he didn't wait for any further prompting to rush out of the rookery towards the under croft.

 

***

 

Dagna read the note quickly as Fiona and Bianca bickered behind her. It was amazing that she could focus on the missive at all while the mage and dwarf argued in the background, but then again the Archanist was said to be the most brilliant mind of their time, so maybe it gave her supernatural abilities to tune out arguments. Bryce winced involuntarily as Bianca threw a tool across the room, the metal clanking harshly against the ground before it went skidding over the edge of the platform to drop somewhere onto the mountainside below.

  
“Hm, well, good news Bryce, I already have the list ready for Vivienne, I just need to remember where I put it…” she wandered off, digging around in a stack of papers that completely covered the surface of her desk. Fiona swore something in elven at Bianca, angrily looking for another tool to replace the one that had been tossed over the edge. “ _Aha_! Found it.” Dagna cried triumphantly. “Here, this is the list of people I want to work on the project. Let the Inquisitor know I need them approved as fast as possible, we need more hands on deck to make some of these things work.”

  
“Yes, ma’am.” He said absently as he watched Bianca storm off into another room declaring all mages, especially elven mages, incompetent.

  
Dagna’s smile became somewhat strained as a little bit of tension built up in her jaw. “Like I said, as fast as possible would be great.”

  
“Yeah…I would say so.” He agreed. Bryce gave her a salute and left the undercroft as quickly as he could, wondering how in the world the three researchers would ever be able to get anything done if that sort of thing happened often.

 

***

 

It was nearly noon when he had finished delivering all his messages, so he made his way to the kitchen and had the cooks prepare a tray of food. He thanked them profusely as he carried it out, rushing up the stairs and across the battlements to the Commander’s office. He didn’t bother knocking, as he knew it would only irritate the Commander, and instead opened the door and unceremoniously deposited the food on the desk, directly on top of the pages Cullen had been staring at. The Commander looked up at him, frowning as a slight crease formed across his forehead. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bryce got there first.

  
“Compliments of the Inquisitor, ser.” He said cheerily.

  
“I am not a child she has to feed…” he grumbled, shaking his head. He pulled the lid off the container and the smell of stew filled the office, and Bryce could actually hear the growl from his stomach from where he was standing. Cullen blushed slightly, sighing in resignation. “Thank you, Bryce, and tell my wife I appreciate the gesture.”

  
Bryce saluted, giving him a warm smile, before he turned on his heel to leave the office. He wasted no time after that, cutting his way through the now eerily empty solar to get back into the great hall and rushing up the steps to the Inquisitor’s room. He knocked on the door, waited for the order to enter, then strode in and confidently placed the replies on the Inquisitor’s desk in front of her.  He relayed the spymaster's verbal message to her, as well as pointed out the Archanist needed hers answered first before something went terribly wrong with the project. 

  
“Thank you, Bryce. Before you take off for the afternoon, would you mind asking the kitchen to send Cullen some lunch? I have a feeling he has been skipping meals again.” She told him.

  
“I had a hunch you might say that so I brought him some food myself before I returned, ma’am.” He grinned from ear to ear as she laughed, tilting her head back and sending her curls cascading downward.

  
“Bryce, I love you like a son.” She said warmly before her eyes took on a mischievous glint. “Say, I have a few nobles interested in marrying my children. What do you say, Bryce, would you like to marry some rich Orlesian woman?”

  
He cleared his throat, sniffing in exaggerated disdain. “No offense, Inquisitor, but _fuck_ that.”

  
She laughed again, this time hard enough that she had to clutch at her side while she tried to even out her breathing. “You are the best damn messenger a girl could ask for.” She wiped at the corner of her eyes as she recovered. “I think that’s all I needed today, you can take the rest of the day off as a reward for all the hard work. I won’t need you again until after the war council later this evening.”

  
“Are you sure? I don’t mind if you need me to –“

  
“Shut up and go relax for a while. Maker knows you probably need it.”

  
“Thanks.” He replied, and she waved him off, returning her attention to the stack of messages he had just delivered.

  
He whistled to himself as he made his way to the tavern, knowing that there would be a game of cards he could join. Lady Sera would likely want to pick his brain about how Autumn was doing as well, asking after any information she likely wasn’t going to learn from the reports she shared with the spymaster. Sera liked to use him to gather insight on some of the leaders so that she could use whatever influence she had to try and make their lives easier when things got too stressful, a job Bryce had absolutely no issues helping out on. In fact, everything about his current job with the Inquisition was just perfect, and as the sun warmed the metal of his armor and the song on his lips made his heart feel light, Bryce felt like the luckiest soldier in all of Thedas.


	13. You Don't Know Anything About Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassandra and Bianca do NOT get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY WOO  
> This one is a little short, because it doesn't belong lumped in with the previous chapter, nor do I want it at the beginning of the next one, so here you go. :D

Cassandra placed her practice sword in its place along the wall amongst the other weapons, the light from the blacksmith forge flickering off the steel to create intricate patterns of reflections across the walls. She liked the way everything inside the building seemed to shimmer with heat and light, creating an environment filled with warmth and the sounds of men and women hard at work, toiling away to keep the Inquisition supplied with the weapons and armor they needed. Most people found the noise and bustle of activity to be stressful, but she actually found it peaceful, a place where she could come to watch the world pass by and still be able to see the little bits of progress that helped hold up an organization as massive as the Inquisition was now.

  
The door to the building was thrown open, the light from the sun breaking up the fireside patterns, shining too brightly compared to the pleasantly dim atmosphere from a moment before. Cassandra resisted the urge to groan as Bianca sauntered in, her hood pulled up over her head and her eyes looking towards the blacksmith’s as though she owned them. She resolutely turned away, facing the weapons on the wall and trying not to grind her teeth in the presence of the spoiled brat. She was well aware that she was here to help the Inquisition, and could even understand the need for her expertise, but she would never be able to actually be _grateful_ to the girl who was so wrapped up in her own self adoration it was close to causing a plague of eyes rolling straight out of the back of people’s heads wherever she went.

  
“I’m gonna need these reinforced with silverite, and I need them finished by tomorrow afternoon.” She announced, tossing a pair of tongs at the workers in a throw that was too high by half, nearly sending them sailing into the forge. A blonde haired smith jumped up and caught it, carefully wiping the scowl off her face to replace it with a tepid smile before Bianca could take offense.

  
The older blacksmith nodded at the dwarf. “Yes, my lady. I think we can manage that.”

  
“You’d better. I have important research to do, and I don’t think the Inquisitor would be happy to find out I had to push things back because I couldn’t get the proper tools.” Bianca said.

  
“Right, my lady.” The man replied, the disgruntlement in his voice barely masked, his eyes glazing over with irritation as he returned to his duties.

  
Bianca turned, catching sight of Cassandra as she tried to look busy, apparently to no avail as the dwarf practically skipped over to her. “No one here seems to have any sense of urgency anymore. Varric’s lack of motivation must be rubbing off on them.” She said cheerily, forgoing any kind of greeting entirely.

  
Cassandra had to actively try not to snarl, concentrating on making sure her face was completely stoic. “You should watch what you say about Varric. The people hear hold him in very high regard.”

  
“The people here clearly don’t know him then.” Bianca giggled as though she had just made some kind of remarkable joke. Cassandra didn’t laugh.

  
“I know him well, and you do him a disservice.” She replied tartly.

  
Bianca rolled her eyes, her face taking on a smug air that picked at the edges of Cassandra’s already very short stretch of patience. “Trust me, you don’t know him like I know him.”

  
Cassandra opted not to respond, focusing instead on unbuttoning her gauntlets and laying them carefully on the table. She fervently hoped Bianca would take the hint and leave her alone so that she could finish putting away her equipment in peace.

  
Bianca, as it turned out, did not take the hint. “Awe, don’t be like that Seeker. I know he’s fun to have around, that’s why I still keep in touch with him. You have to admit he’s not exactly the paragon of honor and duty.” She snorted, treating the statement like a bit of friendly advice. She snickered to herself, apparently greatly amused by her sage wisdom.

  
Cassandra ground her teeth together as subtly as she could manage. “And what exactly would your definition of those words be, then?”

  
“Certainly not ‘two bit sarcastic writer with a crossbow complex’.” She crowed, and Cassandra got the distinct impression that whenever she spoke Bianca imagined crowds of people in her head, laughing and applauding over everything that fell out of her mouth.

  
“You don’t know anything about him if you think of him like that.” She snapped, knowing she was likely being baited but unable to squash the sudden rush of fury over the slander of a man who had proven himself, at least in her eyes, several times over for any past mistakes he had made. It had taken her a long time to come to the conclusion, but Varric Tethras was a good man, and he deserved to be treated with respect.

  
Bianca scoffed, a flash of anger showing in her eyes as she narrowed them suspiciously at Cassandra. “Oh? And you do? How many years have _you_ known him?” she crossed her arms over her chest, daring Cassandra to have an answer.

  
“Long enough to watch him stand up for what was right and fight for all of our sakes against those that would see this world destroyed.” Cassandra answered hotly.

  
“You think he did that out of the goodness of his heart? He made himself look good, nothing more.” Bianca laughed haughtily, dismissing the man’s heroic efforts without a moment’s consideration.

  
Cassandra clenched her fist, trying to keep her voice from rising as she replied. “I was with him in that battle, and he was braver than most of the men I’ve ever known. Where were _you_? Tell me, what were _you_ doing while we fought Corypheus? Or the Red Templar? What was so important that you decided to run and hide while we took care of all the corrupted creatures born from that foul substance you sold away?”

  
Bianca stomped her foot indignantly. “How dare you! You don’t know anything about me!”

  
“I know enough.” Cassandra turned away, shrugging off the conversation like tattered armor, fully prepared to be done with the interaction.

  
Bianca, once again, failed to take the hint. “You bitch, you think just because Varric has been playing hero that he’s somehow better than me now? You think you can both sit above me, all high and mighty, pretending you’ve never made a mistake before? Who do you think gave me the location of that Thaig? You really think he’s blameless for what happened?”

  
Cassandra spun around, staring down her nose at the angry little wretch. “I think his greatest mistake was trusting you.”

  
“Oh, fuck you. Go ahead, put him on some pedestal. Idolize him. One day he’ll disappoint you and you’ll know better. Varric is a crook, a nobody who imagines heroics in his books so he can have some way to impress people. Why do you think I left him? He never could have been good enough for the kind of life I wanted to live.” She was shouting now, her cheeks flushed with rage. For a moment she stood there, shaking with her own impotence. Then, gradually, her expression shifted, a slow, cruel smile spreading across her lips. “Although, I suppose for someone like _you_ he might be a perfect match.”

  
Cassandra swung at her before she knew what she was doing, her knuckles connecting with the side of Bianca’s face and sending her stumbling backwards. It was a light hit, more of a slap than anything, nowhere close to the full power she held in her swing, but Bianca clutched at her face as though mortally wounded, crying out in inarticulate rage. She jumped forward, launching herself at Cassandra only to be yanked roughly backwards by the collar of her jacket. She fell from the momentum, landing heavily on her rear end as she glared at the interference.

  
Varric scowled at them both in turn, breathing heavy from his race across the room, having come in just as Cassandra had lost her control. “Andraste’s _ass_!” he swore, but before he could get anything else out he was forced to grab Bianca again, around the elbow this time, as she was on her feet and trying to run at Cassandra again. “Enough, enough! What in the Maker’s name is going on here?!” he asked.

  
“She’s insane! She just attacked me!” Bianca pointed an accusatory finger at Cassandra, who was tempted to hit her again for having the gall to blame the incident on her.

  
Varric’s incredulous stare stopped her in her tracks, however. “What?! Seeker, what were you thinking?”

  
“Oh, so you’re taking her side?” Cassandra snapped, feeling a warmth building behind her eyes that she wished would go away.

  
“I’m not taking anybody’s side!” he backtracked immediately, his voice a little softer as he spoke. His warm eyes regarded her sympathetically, and she could almost convince herself she saw a touch of concern for her rolling around in their depths.

  
“Really?! So in your book it’s perfectly fine for a warrior to attack an unarmed scientist?” Bianca wailed, heavy tears pouring out of her eyes. Cassandra wanted to scream that she was faking them, that it was all an act. She wanted to grab Varric and tell him everything the little harpy had just said about him behind his back, but the look on his face made all the anger turn to ash in her mouth, every word dry up and burn away as something hot and angry tore apart her chest.

  
Varric turned to Bianca, his eyes full of apology. “I never said that!” he sighed heavily, looking at Bianca like she was a lost child that needed all the gentle help in the world. “What in the void is even going on here?” he reached his hand up, his thumb running across the miniscule cut on Bianca’s lip. She pouted at him, accentuating the wound with the pitiful expression, letting her wet tears pour unchecked down her cheeks.

  
Cassandra stood and watched them for a moment, wishing she had hit her much harder than she had, wishing she were anywhere else, wishing a dragon would swing down from the sky and swallow her whole. She felt her gut clench painfully, some emotion building up within her that made her want to pick something up and throw it across the room. She suddenly hated everyone and everything in the building, and the only thing she could think of was to get out of there as fast as she could. “Nothing. Clearly nothing is going on here.” She replied, and before she could hear anything else she stomped off, moving away from the scene before she did anything else to embarrass herself.

 

***

 

Varric watched Cassandra go with a strange ache in his chest, feeling like he had just done something monumentally wrong but clueless as to what it might be.

  
“What did you do?” he asked Bianca, letting go of her face as she continued to pout.

  
“ _Me_?” she whined. “She’s the one who flew off the handle. Does it look like I started this fight?” she gestured erratically to the completely harmless cut on her lip.

  
Varric crossed his arms and gave her a stern look. “She wouldn’t have attacked you for no reason.”

  
“Wow, you two are just unbelievable. What happened to you, Varric? You never used to be like this!” she demanded. There was real hurt behind her eyes, still shining with tears from the confrontation. He wanted to scoop her up and give her a hug, to make her feel better, and maybe in the past he would have. Now, though…now he resisted the urge, knowing that it wouldn’t do her any good to be coddled, knowing it wouldn’t do _him_ any good to coddle her.

  
“Maybe I grew up. You should consider trying it sometime, you’ll get punched in the face by Seekers a lot less often.” He gave her a rueful smile, reaching over and giving her shoulder a light squeeze.

  
She shoved his arm away roughly, jutting her lip forward as it quivered, obviously on the verge of more tears. “Whatever. Come find me if you decide you want to apologize.” She stomped off in the opposite direction Cassandra had gone, slamming the door behind her.

  
“If _I_ want to apologize?!” he called to her retreating back. He looked to the two blacksmiths, awkwardly trying not to pay attention to the loud scene right in front of them. “How am I the bad guy here?”

  
They shrugged, looking just as confused as he was, and Varric wished with all his heart Bianca was somewhere else, _anywhere_ else, so that his life could return to some semblance of normalcy.


	14. Something was Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a short amount of words deliver quite a lot of angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for the cliffhanger. :D

His heart was a drum, thrumming so loudly it must be somewhere inside his head, pounding between his ears so that he couldn’t think beyond the noise as it beat ruthlessly onward and deafened him. Every pulse hurt, like a blunted blow to his nerves, grinding him into bruised pulp that shook with the effort it took just to stand and take air into his lungs. Every drop of blood in his veins strained against the nonstop tide of tension, fraying him like an old rope, each thread of his resolve twisting while he burned away from the middle. He was turning to ash, to dust and disaster that would scatter across the floor to be trampled by those that would chase after him, searching for the things that were a part of him that he couldn’t be sure even existed anymore.

  
Anders was trying to breathe, trying to calm down, trying, by the sheer force of his will, to hold back the furious entity boiling his blood from the inside. Justice was a gibbering mess, screaming against the confines of his apostate shaped prison, rattling at the bars like a mindless creature of murder, whose only purpose was _escape_ and _revenge_.

  
“I…will not…let you take me.” He ground out, his strained voice barely audible underneath the pounding in his head. The world spun and snapped, even when he closed his eyes against the blurring edges of reality he still saw the vicious swirl of his own descent into madness. The response to his resolve was a flood of rage, surging through him like a bolt of lightning, striking at him and snapping one more thread precariously holding him together. It was no use, there was no end to his torment, and despite his best efforts sooner or later he would lose this battle.

  
Anders sobbed, the breath in his chest rushing out in a painful cry that ushered the tears from his eyes. He doubled over, clutching helplessly at his own body while it vibrated with pain, shaking with emotions both intimate and utterly foreign, a part of him and yet alien in a way that made his skin crawl like the taint never had. Justice was no longer a spirit, no longer coherent, no longer anything that could be reasoned with in any way, shape, or form. If he took control he would be a danger to everyone and everything in Skyhold, his violent wrath having only one purpose, and Anders, despite his gnashing teeth and bitter determination, could not hope to withstand him. Justice was stronger, angrier, more powerful than Anders could ever hope to be, and this battle of wills had finally come to a head. This was the final straw, the final hours in a war that had lasted too many years, and Anders was the beaten soldier staring into the abyss as his comrades were overrun by the darkness creeping over the horizon. He sobbed again, falling to his knees on the floor, because he knew the odds, he knew only too well the impossibility of his success. All this time, all he had worked for, everything that he had come to believe…it was all going to be lost because he was too weak.

  
“Please…Justice…” he begged. His fingers curled into the fabric of his robes, tearing at it in the vain hope it would give him something to hold on to, something to cling to that would anchor him in this world. His mind flashed with images of Lilly, of her hair tangled in his fingers, of the tears in her eyes when she swore she believed in him. His heart shattered as he tried to use the memory of her lips against his skin, the feeling of her breath as she gasped out his name, anything about her that would remind him why it was worth enduring this monstrous anguish, remind him why he couldn’t give in. It was not enough, it was never enough, even with all the love in his heart and soul, even with all the declarations and promises and never ending parades of resolve, it could never be enough. With a tremulous wail Anders let go, the world slipping from his numb fingers like grains of sand dropping into the sea, and with an all-consuming sense of regret and sadness, he fell into the angry blackness that was swallowing his soul.

  
When he stood again it was no longer Anders. The demon of Vengeance had devoured his consciousness, and he could only watch helplessly as his body opened the door and walked out of the room.

  
If he could have moved his lips he would have used them to apologize to her, for never being enough.

 

***

 

Something was wrong.

  
She could feel it in her bones, a quiet keening that made her skin itch and her nerves shiver with a need she couldn’t put a name to. She could feel it in the subtle shift in the air, the same bitter breeze that had portended everything bad that had ever happened in her life before. It was like the song of the world had suddenly ceased, a discordant note plucked before the string had snapped, leaving the off key tone to echo in her head and set off all of her alarms. The world around her still continued on, blithely unaware of the snapping jaws and darkened growls parading through her mind. She set her drink down on the table, taking a breath even though she knew it would not brace her, and closed her eyes. The feeling was there, rotten and festering within the pit of her stomach, seething with a surety that would drive her to madness if she did not heed its clarion call.

  
Something was wrong.

  
“You okay Hawke?” Varric’s voice drifted to her, sounding far away to her buzzing ears.

  
“Yeah.” She lied, because she always lied, could not help but let the false reassurances spill from her lips, could not voice her concerns even as they drove shudders of unease down her spine. “I just…think I need to go lie down.” _To hide from what's coming_ , she thought, but she kept the words firmly behind her teeth. Part of her fervently hoped that whatever was coming was nothing, that her sense of doom was merely overactive after thousands of hours chasing salvations that were always snatched away at the last second. Her life was eternally a vision of a happy ending that was viewed through a cracked window, the glass marred with the grime of her past so that she could hardly see the sunshine beyond. Part of her hoped that this feeling was merely another distorted reflection, the fear in her eyes split along another crack, and that if she blinked, or reached out to touch it, everything would fade and return to the shaky peace they held onto, a smudge she could wipe away to let in that sunlight just a little bit more.

  
“Alright.” Varric replied, giving her a knowing glance. He suspected something was wrong, because he was Varric, and he could read her as well as the books he wrote, and she loved him wholly for the fact that he would keep any comments he had to himself and let her walk out that door before she was dragged into oblivion by the urgent need to be somewhere else.

  
“See you later.” She promised, standing up with a small wave. He returned the gesture, shaking his head but letting her go. She would have to remember to thank him for being the perfect best friend sometime later, when the universe wasn’t sending her vague messages that it was all about to end. She walked out of the tavern door, stepping into the rain that dripped from the overcast sky, bathing her in cold water that was like a slap to the face, shocking and bracing, accentuating the fire in her nerves that flickered with intense purpose.

  
Something was wrong.

  
She turned, walking to the middle of the courtyard, unsure of where it was she needed to go, her feet shuffling against the sparse patches of grass aimlessly. She felt disconnected with the ground, like part of her was floating away, her head in the clouds surrounded by the rain that had yet to fall, underwater in the sky so that she couldn’t hear the normal sounds around her. Everything echoed, everything was muffled, and as her heart beat scattered rhythms against her ribs she looked up and felt the world grind to a halt.

  
_Everything_  was wrong.

  
He was walking down the stairs purposefully, the rain sizzling off his glowing skin as it fizzled with blue energy that shimmered against the air. The rage on his face made her heart stop, the cracked surface of her love’s skin emitting sparks that stole her breath. His gaze focused on the gates, his intent clear to even her dazed and terrified mind, his desire for escape hanging in the air so thickly she could taste it, acrid against her tongue as she swallowed her writhing panic. She was running to him before she could feel her feet, the wind rushing past her face and freezing her rapidly soaking hair before she was even aware the ground beneath her was moving.

  
“Justice.” She said, breathless as she neared him. He looked at her, the cold glowing eyes showing recognition but little else. He said nothing, and continued his resolute march away from her. She had to jog to catch up to him, hurrying beside him, her shorter legs taking double the steps to keep up with his longer strides. “Justice, where are you going?” she asked again, her voice demanding.

  
“They have threatened those who stand for the righteous. They can be given no quarter, shown no mercy. Their corruption has denied them the right to continue, and I will not stand and allow them to harm those that fought for the safety of the just.” His voice was deeper, thicker, shadowed and venomous. She couldn’t hear Anders underneath it, Justice overcoming even the way he sounded, erasing the signs of the man he consumed so thoroughly it would be so easy, so horribly easy, to forget he was still in there, fighting against all the simmering rage.

  
“Who? Justice, please, wait…what are you talking about?” she was frantic. She needed to get him talking so that she could try to reason with him. He was usually very logical, methodical, if she could just find out what had him so incensed she was sure she could find a way to delay his actions, a way to calm him so that Anders could return to her.

  
“The Wardens.” He replied flatly.

  
They were halfway across the yard, nearing the gates with every step. “The Wardens? We’re already going to do something about them, you don’t need to leave-“

  
“I will not remain idle while they corrupt the innocent.” He snapped.

  
“You were there when we were running from them. This is suicide, you can’t just run off and fight the entire Grey Warden army!” she wailed.

  
“Then I will die gloriously.” His steps never slowed, the gate looming before them faster than she wanted it to.

  
Lilly jumped in front of him, holding her hands in front of her as though her dainty palms alone could stop him. Her clothes were soaked and hung heavily on her shoulders, her hair clinging to her face as rainwater dripped down the tendrils, trailing along her chin and neck and making her shiver minutely. “ _Stop_. You will not waste his life like this.” She said firmly, glaring at him.

  
“Do not stand in my way, Lilly. My purpose is clear, and they must pay for their crimes. I will not discuss this with you.” Coils of energy danced across his skin, pulsing like a heartbeat as he stared her down. His very posture was a warning, a snake poised to strike, but this was not an argument she would lose, this was not a time she would back down and allow him to have his way, she would not balk to avoid being bitten by the fangs of his irrational ire.

  
“ _No_.” she screamed, her voice a shriek that tore out of her throat like a peal of thunder, every person in the keep turning to see the source of the commotion. “ _You will not take him from me_.” She said. She pulled out her daggers, flipping them forward in a blur of metal that caught the bright light emanating from him, glittering twirls of danger and death that reflected the indignation she felt, the fear winding poisonous tendrils through her chest. Her lungs heaved, her thoughts warring with themselves, anger and hatred for Justice crowding in with her love and fear for Anders. She would stand against him, if it was the last thing she did she would stand against him, and keep him from taking the only thing that mattered to her. Anders was her purpose, her reason, her heart, her light, her life. He was the darkness that pulled her down and the saving grace that dragged her back out again. Justice was the ever present countdown, ticking away at the time they had together, scratching away at his chains while they held each other and prayed for one more day, one more hour, one more minute so that they could find another way. She had reached across years of hurt and pain to twine her soul with his, and after all this time, all that pain, all the nights on the run and the days searching for answers, after everything that had happened to her, she was NOT going to let Justice take him from her now.

  
“You should have killed us when you had the chance in Kirkwall.” Justice snarled, and he reached out with unnatural speed, wrapping his fingers around her neck before she had a chance to react. Her daggers fell as she grabbed at his wrist, her hands useless against the iron grip around her airway. He lifted her up, holding her into the air with ease, the acrid smell of her own flesh burning filling her nose while her vision swam. She clutched at him, a sob in her chest breaking as it tried to rise through her crushed throat. Lilly knew tears were slipping from her eyes, mingling with the rain so that both fell to the ground together, as inseparable as she was from Anders, together until they smashed into the mud and met their simultaneous end. She felt the tingle of the spell before he cast it, felt him pull the energy from the fade like he had lifted a floodgate, the surge of power running over her like the fluid rain.

  
She screamed soundlessly as the electricity was unleashed straight into her, tearing her apart fraction by fraction until she felt like she would dissolve, melt away with the water and sink into the mired dirt below. A thousand memories flashed before her eyes, Anders laughing, his lips pressed against her hips, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled, his hair shimmering in the candlelight with her fingers dancing aimless patterns across his skin. Maybe this was always where they were headed, a condemned love that could never survive the world it was born into. Maybe it was useless to hope they could ever find happiness, a dream never meant for the waking world they had to dwell in. Maybe he had been right when he warned her away a million times, breaking both their hearts to save their lives. It was bitter, it was unfair, it was anything but _just_ , and maybe _doomed_ was the only accurate way to describe the love they held between their shaking fingers, clinging to lingering promises that were never meant for them and never meant to be kept.

  
If she could have moved her lips she would have promised him it had all been worth it, and that she would do it all again, even knowing this was how it ended.


	15. Ever Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which help isn't going to be easy to find.

He had been able to hear her voice from his office, the shrill tone cutting through the gentle sounds of the rain like a knife, slicing away at the calm that had settled over his day. He recognized it, both for whom it was coming from and for what it spoke of, the panic of a person at the edge of their resources familiar to him, like an old glove being slipped onto fingers gnarled and scarred from a lifetime of nightmares. Cullen was up and racing out the door in a flash, his booted feet steady against the rain slicked stones of the battlements. All of Skyhold seemed to be frozen, staring at the pair standing in front of the gates, facing off in a battle that struck terror in his heart.

  
Cullen had never seen Justice. In all his time in Kirkwall he had never seen the demon come out, not even in the final battle against Meredith. It was fascinating, in a grim, horrifying sort of way, to watch his friend’s skin flicker, like solidified lightning cast in the shape of a man. He could feel the wretched tingle of the fade even from here, this high above them, and he knew immediately Hawke was in incredible danger.

  
He ran, with all the strength that he had he pushed himself forward, through the doors ahead of him and down the stairs that would lead to the gates. The prickle of magic burned in the air, making his tongue run dry and his body beg for the lyrium that it no longer needed, the fear making him miss the reassuring power it might provide. The door to the outside banged against the wall after he threw it open, his breath catching in his chest as he watched Anders – no, _Justice_ \- lift Hawke up by the throat, lofting her into the air as if she weighed no more than a doll. She hung helplessly there for a fraction of a second, minute mewling sounds escaping her lips before Justice attacked, filling her body with electricity that made her jerk and spasm, shaking incessantly as the smell of burning skin permeated the area. People screamed, running away from the scene, hiding as a horrid choking sound issued from her lips, muddled by the gentle cascading of the rain. The sheer power emanating from the possessed man rocked through him, shaking him under layers of growth and acceptance, pulling at the locks around the nightmares of his past. Seeing Justice, feeling him searing the air, brought up a thousand old fears he wished he could forget, eyes always in the dark staring out at him while he walked the path of a better man. There was no time to think, no time to move, no time to let the ancient terrors take hold of him and drag him down. He needed to do something, immediately, or the damage that could be done would be irreparable.

  
He hadn’t used his Templar abilities since he had left the order. He had neither cause nor desire to call upon the skills learned from a corrupted organization, the techniques feeling foul now that he had seen just what the Templar were capable of being. Perhaps part of him had been afraid, afraid that using them would make his bones miss the lyrium like a mother missed a buried child, something desperate and sad to pick at his resolve after he thought himself finally free. Even now, his system clear of lyrium and his heart beating of its own accord, he hesitated, worried over what would happen when abilities long dormant were brought forth without the fuel of the foul liquid dancing in his veins.

  
His hesitation dissolved at the site of his friend being killed by the man she loved, and he closed his eyes, bringing his gloved fingers to his brow. He whispered the words, chants taught to keep him focused, to bring the fire of the Maker to his side as he fought against the darkness magic could bring to bear. He felt nothing at first, empty echoes where blue righteousness used to dwell, and so he grit his teeth and focused harder, digging deeper, pulling at the coffins where he kept the memories of what he could do, what he had done, wrenching them open to gather the help of the ghosts within. He found it, wrapped his mind around it, grasping it and pulling it forward like dragging a corpse through the mud, but it came, lurching and halting and altogether _different_ than he ever remembered it being. He took a deep breath, bracing against the unexpected pain of trying to summon his skills, feeling them fill him like bitter air in death addled lungs, and when he exhaled he pushed them out, throwing the cleansing aura around himself and the atmosphere until he felt it bounce against the crackling skin of the demon.

  
He opened his eyes, his body shaking like it had at the height of his withdrawal tremors, and watched as Justice screamed, his voice a mesh of several tones at once, all speaking of agony and rage. He dropped Hawke, her body crumpling to the ground, a discarded heap of bones and muscles, unmoving in the puddles like so much discarded refuse. Justice’s skin flashed, so bright that Cullen had to look away, the scar of the blinding blue surge dancing behind his eyelids. When he opened them again Anders body was no longer glowing, laying in the mud a few feet away from where he had been, trembling like a starving mongrel too long in the cold. He struggled to his feet, great gasping sobs leaping from his lips, and Cullen moved as fast as he could, grabbing him by the arms and yanking him backwards, away from Hawke who still lay there, far too still against the dark ground.

  
“It’s me!” Anders sobbed, and his voice seemed oddly quiet, a singular sound compared to the nightmare of Justice’s screams. “Cullen, I swear it’s me, let me go I have to check her!” his crying shook his whole body, violent spasms that tore through him and reverberated through Cullen’s armor. “Please, please, please be okay…”

  
Cullen let him go, unsure if he really believed it was safe or if he just desperately _wanted_ to believe it. He ached, everywhere, his body feeling like it had been opened up and hollowed out, scraped of anything worthy and left to wallow in uselessness. He drew in a deep breath, choking halfway through as the air hitched around his sore chest, coughing painfully as he tried to regain a normal rhythm.

  
Anders was clutching Hawke to his chest, cradling her while he sobbed violently. Cullen staggered over, his feet suddenly unsteady and slipping in the grass, but he somehow managed to hold himself upright, making it to them without toppling over. She was pale, her face ashen and slack, lips so often tilted in a smirk now tinted blue and motionless. A vicious burn lay across her throat in the shape of long, slender fingers, her hair emitting faint tendrils of steam. Cullen bent over, gripping his knees as grief overcame him, the sight of her unmoving form too much to bear.

  
“She’s _alive_!” Anders managed, pulling her closer. “I can’t cast, whatever you did, I can’t….I can’t…” he swallowed savagely, trying to spit the words out around the relentless anguish overtaking him. Cullen didn’t need to hear anymore, he got his meaning without any further explanation. He stood, looking up to see Varric running from the tavern, unashamed fear naked on his face.

  
“Get a healer, _now_!” he ordered him, his voice hoarse and feeling strangely old and used.

  
Varric took off, but stopped short when a guard behind him waved him off, dragging Vivienne through the courtyard as fast as he could. Cullen caught the determined face dotted with freckles and made a mental note to give Bryce a raise of some kind.

  
“Whatever happened?” Vivienne gasped as she knelt in the mud, heedless for once of what it would do to her silken robes.

  
“Help her!” Anders begged. Vivienne cast him a worried glance, lifting her hands to hover over Hawke, a faint glow pulsing from her fingertips. Cullen gently pulled Anders out of the way, moving him so that the enchanter could work.

  
“Get a stretcher, we need to get her inside.” Vivienne ordered Bryce, who was off before the sentence was even completed. Anders clutched at Cullen’s arm, hanging on as though he was afraid if he let go he would fly away.

  
“Vivienne?” Cullen asked her, her name the only thing he could force his mouth to speak, his treacherous heart barely daring to hope.

  
She glanced up at him, the worry in her eyes speaking volumes. “She is gravely injured.” She responded, her tone carefully even. Her eyes flicked to Anders, drenched and shuddering, and Cullen could practically _feel_ the disapproval in her gaze. Anders flinched, wincing against the glare, the guilt on his face like a cloak, obscuring his features until it was all that Cullen could see.

  
Bryce returned and they placed Hawke on the stretcher as gently as they could, a pair of soldiers carrying her off towards the infirmary while Cullen and Anders stared at their backs.

  
“You have to lock me up.” Anders croaked, turning eyes so full of sorrow towards Cullen that they were apt to drown the world. “I don’t know what you did, no one has _ever_ been able to get rid of Justice like that, but I…I can’t control him anymore.” Anders grabbed at the mantle around Cullen’s armor, clutching at it roughly as he pleaded for his own imprisonment. “I couldn’t stop him. You _can't_ let him do this again.”

  
Cullen grasped him around the wrists, his heart breaking for the man as he tried to reassure him with his grip. He didn’t speak, didn’t have the words to explain how much he agreed, how much he _hated_ it, how he wished there was something he could do to erase all the horror he had just lived through. He nodded, silently giving in to the request, knowing it was the only option, knowing the only alternative was to kill him and being absolutely sure he wasn’t capable of doing that. Templar killed abominations. That was the simple truth of the matter, that was the only answer the chantry would accept, and in this moment Cullen thanked the Maker that he was no longer a Templar. He would not kill his friend. He would fight for him, he would find a way to save him from this, because while a Templar might have killed him and put an end to his misery, the Commander of the Inquisition would always fight to _save_ the lives entrusted to him, no matter how hopeless it might seem.

  
That resolve didn’t make it easier to watch Anders hauled off by the Inquisition’s men, dragged to the dungeons to await whatever solution they could come up with. Hawke lay in the infirmary fighting for her life, Anders lay in misery knowing he might have killed her, and the rest of them had to hope that they could do something to hold them together in a world where fate seemed determined to wrench them apart.

 

***

 

It had been a long, brutal night. Nearly everyone in the keep had moved about Skyhold restlessly, waiting to hear if Lilly was going to make it through her injuries or if they would all have to face the unthinkable possibility that one of the Inquisition’s heroes had killed another. Autumn had spent her time pacing in various places. Sometimes she paced in her quarters, in between bouts of motionlessness where she wrapped her arms around Cullen as he sobbed for his friends, his terror and helplessness eating him alive. Other times she paced with Varric in the infirmary, their feet winding paths around one another as they silently held vigil while Vivienne and the healers worked. Once she had paced in front of the doors to the dungeon, part of her wanting to speak with Anders and another part too afraid to look at him, especially not without any news of Lilly’s condition. There was a somber tension in the air, the dark threat of death hovering over them all like the clouds, which had stopped raining at some point and merely hung in the sky, a shroud of grey to blot out the stars and keep them sequestered in their shadows.

  
Now she sat on a cot in the infirmary, the others passed out on their own, sleeping fitfully after their minds had finally shut down long enough to close their eyes. She leaned against the wall with Cullen’s head resting in her lap, her gaze anchored to the ceiling while she ran her fingers through his sweat dampened hair. Her own mind was fraught with exhausted thoughts, what ifs and why nows rushing around in circles until she felt dizzy with her own stress, everything coiling together like a ball of barbed twine settling deep in her gut. She couldn’t help but feel she should have been there. She had no idea what she could have done, how she could have possibly helped any more than Cullen had, if there would have been anything more for her to do than stare on in horror, one more memory to scar her nightmares, but there would always be that tiny voice, whispering that she could have saved them if she had just been there. She knew logically she couldn’t be everywhere at once, that bad things would happen in this world and she would be powerless to stop them, but she would never know if she could have helped, simply by virtue of the fact that she was not there.

  
If it were Cullen…if it were Cullen taken over, hunted by something in his own head, stalking him until he hadn’t the strength to move on, Autumn knew she would destroy the world to save him. She remembered the fear that had gripped her the night Cole brought her his death note, how her heart had ridden off with Solas, wishing more than anything she could go with them and help save him. That must be how Lilly felt _all the time_. That endless darkness must eat away at her, day in and day out, the threat of Justice taking Anders away from her always breathing down her neck like a fever, a burning disaster just around the corner from every smile and every moment of peace they earned. Autumn had fought against armies of darkness, but Lilly had to fight against something so much more sinister and sad. It was unfair. Everything about the situation was rank with injustice, and irony too sharp to be amusing as the spirit of Justice itself brought about all the grief that they carried. There had to be something they could do, some way to help free him from the shackles around his mind.

  
The door to the back room opened slowly, Vivienne stepping out and looking around at the slumbering people gathered there. She looked smaller, her heels tossed aside sometime while she worked, and her brow was covered with a fine sheen of sweat. She caught Autumn’s eyes, a small, tired smile spreading across her lips. She tilted her head, beckoning Autumn over, and she delicately shifted Cullen’s head from her lap, moving as smoothly as her stiff muscles would allow. She tiptoed across the room, a difficult task as her blood thrummed with nervous energy, careful to move without making a sound in order to allow the others to sleep for just a little longer.

  
“She wants to speak with you.” Vivienne whispered.

  
“She’s okay?” Autumn asked, relief flooding through her with wild abandon.

  
Vivienne’s smile broadened, though there was a tightness to it that belied its warmth. “She will recover physically.”

  
The implications of the statement did not escape Autumn’s notice, but she resisted the urge to ask further questions, slipping past the enchanter into the chamber beyond. Lilly sat on a cot, propped up on a stack of pillows, her face flushed and her eyes glassy with fever. Despite the air of exhaustion that seemed to envelope her she looked alert, and when she saw Autumn she gave her a weak smile, fluttering across her lips like the hesitant beat of paper thin wings.

  
“How are you?” Autumn asked, sitting on a stool placed next to the cot. She leaned over, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze, wishing she had more to offer in the way of support.

  
“I feel dead.” She replied sadly. Her eyes shifted away, looking intently at the blanket resting over her legs. “How is he?”

  
“Locked away. Cullen used some old Templar abilities to snap him out of it. We have some of the Templar that joined the Inquisition watching over him now.”

  
Lilly’s free hand flew up to her chest, pressing over the space above her heart as her face was contorted with pain. When their eyes met hers were wild, a desperation within that resonated with Autumn on a level she was scared to admit. “Autumn…listen, I know you don’t exactly owe us anything, but I think I need your help.”

  
“Of course.” She agreed readily, fervently hoping there was something she could do.

  
“I’m out of time. I’ve spent almost every minute after Kirkwall trying to find a way to separate them, and every day it seemed to get harder for Anders to live with Justice. I knew I was always racing against the clock but…I think our time is finally up. We need to do something _now_ or I’m going to lose him forever…” she took a shuddering breath, her lip quivering with the effort to retain her composure. “I know you have everything with the wardens going on, but I need your help. Help me save him, and I swear I’ll dedicate the rest of my life to whatever the Inquisition needs. Please, help me before Justice tears him apart.” A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, trailing down her cheek slowly.

  
Autumn reached up and wiped it away, smiling as warmly as she could around the worry wrapped around her heart. “I promise you, we’ll find a way.”

  
Lilly exhaled, the air in her lungs expelling forcefully as she laid back against the pillows, the relief on her face as bright as the sun. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas about _what_ to do, do you?” she gave her a sardonic little smile.

  
Autumn hung her head, familiar ache settling around her like the arms of a lost lover, solid and strong and ever present in the back of her mind most days. She couldn’t bring herself to smile, because she knew this path would bring her only pain, knew it was a door he didn’t want her to open, but she also knew she was left with little options. She was determined to help Lilly and Anders find the happiness they deserved, and she would be damned if her own stunted friendship would stand in the way of that. She took a deep breath, bracing herself, steeling her nerves against the inevitability of what she must do, hoping that whatever his reasons were he would forgive her for needing to seek him out in earnest.

  
“There’s only one person I know that knows enough about spirits and the fade to help.” She told Lilly. “I just hope I can find him.”


	16. Naked.  In the Mud.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair's mouth gets ahead of him again.

His back was insufferably stiff, his muscles unused to sleeping on the ground after so many years pleasantly bundled in luxurious blankets at the end of every day. He had always kept up a strict physical regimen, the constant fear of “growing soft” an excellent motivator on even the coldest mornings when he had wanted nothing more than to lock the doors, curl up underneath his covers, and pretend there wasn’t an entire kingdom outside waiting for him to mess something up. Physical fitness, however, did not make one any more likely to enjoy waking up to find a rock embedded in their left ass cheek, nor did it make frigid mornings in the woods any less unpleasant. He could run and swing a sword and throw a punch all as well as he always could when he was younger, but Maker’s breath did he miss mattresses.

  
Alistair would have been fully prepared to sleep on the ground for the rest of his life, of course, if it meant he would get to see Melody again. As the grey light of the breaching dawn steadily warmed the sky he took a moment to breathe, to remind himself she was safe and waiting for him, and that all he had to do was cross the rest of Ferelden and climb the Frostbacks. That was nothing compared to the near endless hours he had stared at the empty side of the bed, clutching at sheets that never seemed warm without pale skin and red hair tangled within them. Faced with the deliriously wonderful prospect of ending his dreadful loneliness made him feel like he could do almost anything, and trekking across the country was a mere pittance to pay in order to achieve this. He smiled, thinking about how she would smell, how her hair would feel around his fingertips, how her laugh would sing to his heart and her smile lift all of the burdens from his shoulders.

  
“Well, don’t _you_ look happy this morning.” Isabela’s voice snapped him back to reality, a smug smirk across her face as she gave him a knowing look. Fenris mumbled something next to her, the words eaten by the pillow shoved against his face. She pawed his back absently to quiet him, tilting her head so that her thoroughly tussled hair dipped to the side. “Thinking about somebody special?”

  
Alistair couldn’t quite manage to scowl, even though he despised the incessant teasing. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He retorted.

  
“Ooh, absolutely!” she purred. “Wait, let me find a pen, I want to write down the details, this has to be good.”

  
“I’m not actually going to _tell_ you.” He scoffed, shifting out of his bedroll irritably.

  
“Awe, come on. Give a girl a good story.” She pouted playfully.

  
Alistair rolled his eyes dramatically. “Get your own story, from your _own_ husband.”

  
“Oh! Someone is spicy this morning! Did you hear that Fen, he said I should get a story from you.” She pushed at the sleeping elf next to her and he partially rolled over to fix Alistair with a glare, as though it was entirely his fault he had to wake up in the first place. “See, now you’ve upset the warrior, you’re in trouble now!”

  
“I _am_ a warrior, thank you very much.” Alistair rejoined.

  
“Hm. I suppose that’s true.” She tapped one of her long fingernails against her cheek, feigning thoughtfulness. “You know, you two should fight. Naked. In the mud.”

  
Alistair felt his cheeks heat in spite of himself, and internally he cursed the fact that no matter how many times he was teased in this way it was always embarrassing. He had expected after years of knowing Zevran he would be used to it, or perhaps after being a married man for many years would at least dull the shame, but apparently his delicate chantry boy sensibilities were not so easily conquered.

  
“Why would you want them to wrestle in the mud?” Merrill asked through a yawn, her tiny arms reaching to the sky in a languid stretch.

  
“Oh kitten, because it’s _dirty_.” Isabela rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “You know, _naughty_ dirty.”

  
“Oh.” Merrill blinked innocently for a moment, then bit her lip. “But, if you wanted it to be naughty, wouldn’t it be better without the mud? Because then all of the good bits wouldn’t get covered up!” she mused, triumphant with her own reasoning. Isabela tipped back her head, laughter pealing out of her throat. Fenris groaned and sank his face back into his pillow.

  
“You know, nakedness aside, that might actually be an interesting fight.” Rhys added around a mouthful of dried fruit, munching away on his breakfast as he walked up to the rest of them. Alistair saw Evangeline packing up their things behind him, efficiently preparing to start on another day’s travel.

  
“’Nakedness aside’ he says, as though that weren’t the most IMPORTANT part.” Isabela scoffed. “You have no imagination.”

  
“Oh, I have plenty imagination, I just usually don’t use it to think about muscular men rolling around in the dirt. Muscular _women_ , however…” he trailed off with a wistful sigh, fluttering his eyelashes at Evangeline in a way that made her blush from the base of her neck all the way to the tips of her ears. Alistair felt slightly better knowing he wasn’t the only one susceptible to their antics.

  
Isabela shrugged. “Naked is naked, and it’s all good in my book.” Fenris indicated his approval of the statement with an enthusiastic thumbs up, although he kept his face firmly planted in the feathery fluffiness beneath his head.

  
“I would prefer it if we could complete the rest of this trip without _any_ nudity, if that isn’t too much to ask.” Evangeline added, her smirk so small as to be almost unnoticeable.

  
“I second that notion!” Alistair crowed quickly. He finished packing away his things, donning the heavier parts of his armor as Isabela thwacked Fenris on the back of the head hard enough to make Alistair wince with second hand recoil. Fenris grunted, rolling over and sitting up finally, immediately alert and awake.

  
“Come on sexy, time go get up!” Isabela cooed. He grinned at her, a subtle expression Alistair had learned to interpret as affection from him. He was surprisingly attached to the pirate queen, something seeming utterly strange coming from a guy that spent ninety percent of his days with a scowl draped across his visage. When he had first come to Denerim Alistair had assumed him humorless, but after enough time he opened up a bit and he was delighted to find a very dry sense of humor underneath all the irritated disinterest. Fenris was a man who loved to fight, loved to complain, and who loved his distance from others, but when you gave him a chance he had a lot of caring and affection to give, if you knew how to pick up on it. His connection with Isabela was remarkable, a complex relationship that played off the intricacies of both their personalities in a way that made them a perfect match. When he had met Isabela separately on that ill-advised trip to find his father, he would have sworn she would never be the type of girl to get married, yet now when he watched her with Fenris he couldn’t imagine them _not_ together. It was something that just _worked_ , a fact of life that really didn’t need to be explained or questioned, although he was curious how it got started in the first place, but that was a story he simply hadn’t asked them to tell yet.

  
They finished packing up the rest of their things, Rhys handing off the bag of trail mix to Alistair so he could have his own quick breakfast. They had been moving as fast as possible, taking all their meals on the go and stopping only when the dwindling light made travel through the terrain too treacherous, or they were so exhausted they might fall asleep on their feet if they continued any further. They were getting closer, every inch gained alighting another wave of excitement across his nerves as they swiftly approached the foot of the Frostbacks. The mountains rose above the tops of the trees in the forest, their icy caps like teeth nipping at the sky. Clouds hovered around the tips, heavy and grey with moisture as they danced in swirling patterns, but the sky directly above the party was clear, rapidly turning blue as the sun rose to dismiss the dawn. He judged that they would be able to make even better time today than normal, if the weather remained as amenable as it was currently, and as the party moved out they all seemed to have the same drive to take advantage of the unexpected boon.

  
The aforementioned sun was only slightly higher in the sky when Evangeline threw up her gloved fist, holding it in the air as she squinted through the trees, head cocked to the side listening intently for something. The rest of them froze, bodies tensing as a group while their ears strained to hear what she heard. His eyes were scanning the shadows beneath the green laden boughs when he heard it, the steady clamor of booted feet shuffling through the brush in a marching cadence. From the sound of it the group was large, traveling directly towards them, and even though they couldn’t yet see them he would guess they were heavily armed by the metallic echoes blending in with the snapping of branches underfoot. Then, like the tickling legs of a spider crawling across the back of his neck, all at once Alistair could _feel_ them, dark and ominous like a sinister fog rolling over the forest floor. Either the group crashing towards them were darkspawn having an unlikely desire to picnic in the sunlight, or they were walking headlong into a group of wardens. He moved forward slowly, keeping his movements quiet, and approached Evangeline, Fenris joining them in a tense huddle.

  
“Wardens.” Alistair announced grimly.

  
“Can we avoid them?” Fenris asked them.

  
“We could circle around, try to find another path.” Evangeline offered.

  
“They likely already know we’re here. Or at least they know _I'm_ here. A party making that much noise probably has scouts, as well.”

  
As if on cue Rhys walked over, resting his hand lightly on Evangeline’s elbow to get her attention. “Izzy says she saw two men through the trees ahead and two more behind us. She didn’t get a good look at them, but they’re definitely shadowing us.” He said.

  
“Then secrecy is unnecessary.” Fenris declared. “We stay our course and face them when we meet.”

  
“This is a terrible idea.” Alistair frowned at him.

  
“I don’t see that we have much choice, unfortunately.” Evangeline shook her head, her braided ponytail swishing back and forth as she did. “If they can sense you out here then it won’t matter if we try to move around, and if they’re interested in talking to you they’ll likely just come after us. Our only hope is that we can slip by the encounter without them finding out who you are.”

  
“Oh, good. That will be easy, right?” he asked, and his only answer was a collection of poorly contained groans.

  
They moved on, and the group of wardens were in sight within minutes. Somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty men and women, armored to the teeth and looking incredibly angry, stomping towards them with purpose. All the taint shifting around in their blood made the corruption in his own seem to writhe, twisting in his veins like a thousand little worms. He shivered, trying desperately not to think about it as they walked into hailing range. Evangeline raised her hand, waving politely with a forcibly easygoing smile on her face that Alistair knew damn well she didn’t feel. A man stepped from among the warden ranks, striding forward with authority. The scowl on his face reminded Alistair a whole lot of Loghain, and he had to resist the urge to immediately dislike him on that irrational reason alone. Much to his dismay he had a feeling he would be given ample more reasons to dislike him soon.

  
“Hail, warden. How’s the road ahead?” Evangeline said sweetly. The warden looked her up and down disdainfully, his beady eyes peering out of a face nearly obliterated by a scar that ran from his jaw to his brow. His nose was all but decimated in the middle, and Alistair hated to think what that must have looked like when it was received. He turned from her, apparently done with his appraisal, his gaze falling over each person in the party separately.

  
When his stare fell on Alistair he paused, and Alistair had to tense all of his muscles to prevent himself from squirming under the scrutiny. “I am Warden Commander Gaius. All wardens have been recalled to Weisshaupt. I command you to leave whatever current business you are on and report in at once.” He snapped.

  
“Well, lucky for me I won’t have to follow that order, since I almost certainly outrank you.” Alistair responded cheekily, the words tumbling out of his idiot mouth before he had any hope of filtering himself. Rhys turned and gave him a look of such abject horror that he felt himself blush almost immediately. They should really have just sewn his mouth shut when he was younger, it would have saved all the people he had ever known a lot of grief.

  
Gaius narrowed his eyes at him, unaware of Rhys’s silent reproach. “Who are you?”

  
Alistair swallowed thickly, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He darted his eyes to Evangeline, hoping she might have some plan to get them out of this. She was furious, of that much he could be certain, but where Melody might have had some smooth answer to distract the Warden Commander Evangeline had only stony silence.

  
“It’s not too late to just…start over and forget I ever said that, is it?” he quipped.

  
The wardens, almost in one single motion, drew their weapons, the ring of steel scraping out of scabbards reverberating through the forest and sending all the birds scattering from the trees. Evangeline held up her hands in a placating gesture, taking a step away from them and positioning herself partially in front of Alistair.

  
“Hey, there’s no need for that. This warden is on official business from the Divine. I can show you her seal if you need proof.” She reached to her neck with one of her hands, pulling the official sunburst emblem out from where it was tucked underneath her chest plate, holding it up for all to see.

  
The only effect this seemed to have, however, was to irritate Gaius further. “So, a smartass warden who thinks he outranks me, travelling with the aid of someone who I can only assume is one of the Divine’s Hands if she has that symbol.” He grinned, a savage expression that he wielded almost like one would a poisoned blade. “So, King Alistair, will you come to Weisshaupt quietly, or will I have to kill your friends and take you by force?”

  
“Is there a third option? I really feel like there should be a third option.” Alistair said. Gaius opened his mouth to say more but whatever words he had intended came out in a garbled cry of pain as he clutched at his shoulder, a long throwing knife imbedded almost to the hilt.

  
“Damnit, I missed.” Isabela pouted. She drew her longer daggers from their straps on her back, taking up a very obvious fighting stance, and after that things got a little bit chaotic.


	17. We Must

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a battle with the wardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if these chapters have been running a bit short lately. I will try to rectify that in future installments >.> Then again I try to break them up by parts, not necessarily by word count, so I guess it all depends on how the story comes out....so...uh...blarg.

Gaius snarled like a cornered beast, spittle frothing at the corners of his lips as he glared at them all. He no longer resembled Loghain, the furious madness spinning in the centers of his eyes portending of something far less calculating than the long dead general and entirely more dangerous. Alistair took a leaping step backward, pulling his sword and shield loose from their holds in the same motion, his feet sliding into a fighting stance as he watched Gaius warily. The scarred man ignored the knife sticking out of his shoulder, unstrapping the massive greatsword from his back with a practiced flick to the buckles securing it. The other wardens moved in around them, surrounding them while Gaius seemed to melt into their ranks, and for the merest of seconds everything seemed to still, a stationary moment in time where they all stared at one another, waiting for someone to make the first move.

  
Then the air rippled with magic as the tattoos along Fenris' body lit up, flaring blue and tainting the air with the bitter essence of lyrium. He growled as he took a running step forward, swinging his broadsword in a wide arc. He spun with it, his body following the momentum in a complete circle, and after one more pivoting step the blade made contact with one, two, then three very surprised wardens, the sharp edge tearing through their armor like it was no more firm than butter, opening up their bellies with a sickening smoothness. As the men crumpled to the ground Isabela appeared, sliding around Fenris back like she were dancing with the deadly warrior, slipping past the end of his attack to launch the start of her own. She followed the tail end of the swing, using the opening it created to take a running jump at another of the wardens, frozen with a wide and horrified stare. She jumped, throwing herself into the air and flipping her blades until they pointed to the ground as she reached the apex of her arc, and when she came down the tips of the daggers dove neatly into the warden’s chest. She used the sunken weapons as a tipping point, leveraging herself up and above him in a graceful somersault, vaulting straight over the hapless man’s head. At the top of the flip she yanked savagely, ripping the blades back out of his chest and sending his life spraying into the air. She landed on her feet behind his back, standing up to her full height and running at another warden before the first had even fallen all the way to the ground.

  
Alistair felt the telltale prickle of magic against his skin and from the corner of his eye saw Rhys’ hands pointed in his direction. He felt his body react, invigorated by whatever spell was thrown his way, his senses heightened just in time to catch a warden trying to slip behind him and get in an easy strike. Alistair spun, his shield jerking up to catch the blade before it could do him any damage. He tilted it just to the left, and the warden staggered as his blade slipped off the smooth surface, a small burst of sparks following the metallic trail. Alistair took the opening, thrusting his sword forward into the man’s gut with a deft twist of his arm. He let out a wheezing gurgle and Alistair moved to pull his blade back out, but before he could complete the action something heavy and decidedly pommel shaped connected with the back of his head, sending him toppling forward. His sword sank deeper into the dead man’s gut as he fell on top of him, his vision swimming momentarily from the blunted blow. He rolled over onto his back, looking up as he tried to orient himself, the hilt of his weapon slipping from his grasp. Another warden, wielding a warhammer the size of a small druffalo, was leering down at him, the mallet lofted in the air and poised for a truly murderous swing. Alistair threw up his shield, but it would be little use against a direct hit from a weapon of that magnitude.

  
Then the veil seemed to tear open directly behind his attacker, a great fist sculpted out of thorn laden vines leaping into their plane of existence. It opened, loud snapping noises filling their ears as its thick fingers stretched and wrapped around the warden, and there was one horrible, hanging moment before it crushed him in a fisted grip, a wooden creaking resounding through the forest as the phantom digits flexed. He screamed as the hand tightened its hold, and then the air was smashed out of his lungs when the force of the fist snapped every one of his ribs simultaneously. His eyes rolled back in his head and then the vines seemed to recede, dissolving in the air as little wisps of fade-touched fog that dissipated into the breeze. As his body hit the ground Alistair could see Merrill standing behind him, long cuts spread across her arms, dripping with blood. She was panting as she pointed her staff at the dead man, her eyes filled with a deadly focus Alistair had never seen from her, but then again this was the first time there had been occasion for her to use her bloodmage abilities.

  
“Maker’s breath!” Alistair gasped. “I owe you for that one!”

“Thank me later!” she said cheerily before she turned to look for more of their foes.

Alistair scrambled to his feet, keeping himself alert enough to his surroundings to catch Evangeline neatly dispatch another man with a rather impressive decapitation, a spray of bright red flying through the air to splatter across the front of her armor. He reached down, yanking his blade out of the body of the man he had slain, and while he did so three more wardens ran past him, screaming hideously as they were engulfed in white hot flames. He turned away from the spectacle in time to see two more advancing on him, both wielding longswords in two handed grips.

Their attacks were clunky and transparent, but he still had so do a nearly impossible twist to the side to avoid both of them at once, his blade turning one hit so that it angled around him while his shield caught the other. He had only a second to regain his balance before he had to swing around again, parrying the next attack. They began a complicated pattern between the three of them, Alistair turning to deflect first one blow then another, his shield and sword ringing with the effort, both wardens pressing them as hard as they could to try and unbalance him, surprise him, outmaneuver him in order to land a blow. He lost count of how many times he countered before one of them finally got a good hit in, her blade angled perfectly so that it knocked his shield back into him, sending him staggering back for half a step. He managed to block one more swing from her comrade, but it left him wide open on her side with no time to rectify the mistake.

  
She never got a chance to press her advantage, however, as a glowing fist erupted from the middle of her chest. Her arms fell limply to her sides as blood bubbled up out of her mouth, dripping down her chin in a gruesome waterfall that painted the griffon emblem on her chest crimson. Fenris jerked his hand back out, his entire gauntlet soaked with gore, pointed claws dripping like half melted icicles in a thawing nightmare. Alistair spun himself around, bringing his shield up as he did, and managed to clip the other warden directly on the side of his helm, bending the metal inward and knocking a vicious blow to the side of his head. He fell to the ground without so much as a flinch.

  
Alistair took a second to wipe his brow, looking over at Fenris. Battle lust glimmered in his expressive green eyes, and Alistair couldn’t help but grin at him, his own heart pounding to the silent drums of war that overtook him every time he engaged an enemy. They nodded at one another, reveling in the moment before they were abruptly interrupted by a female warden running at them with a shrill battle cry on her lips. They turned, bracing to defend themselves, but only with enough time to watch her eyes widen and her cry turn to a truncated scream of surprise. She fell forward, sliding on the ground between them, Isabela’s dagger efficiently lodged in her spine directly between her shoulder blades, severing her vertebrae and life in one fell move.

  
Two more wardens next to them were encased in tombs of vines growing from within themselves, ghastly green tendrils erupting from their mouths and eyes in a truly hideous display of Merrill’s power. Evangeline, covered in glittering frost from an enchantment cast by Rhys, stalked across the battleground and ran her sword through another. Alistair looked around, searching through the massacre to find Gaius, noting that they had already taken out the vast majority of the troop. He caught the eyes of the man, fear prevalent on his bloodstained face, and there was a second where neither of them moved, looking at one another like two rivals tethered together by a thin string of fate. Then the string seemed to snap, and Gaius turned and ran, strapping his weapon to his back as he did, disappearing through the trees before any of them had a chance to give chase or react. Fenris, enraged by the Warden Commander’s escape, snarled and lunged at the remaining two wardens. They screamed, trying to flee from the glowing beacon of chaos looming towards them, but of course Fenris was faster and stronger than they could ever hope to be. He swung, heavy and true, and sliced cleanly through one warden while dealing a painful blow to the second. The pieces of the first man fell wetly to the forest floor, and the last warden, a female whose blonde hair poked out from beneath her helm, the tips stained pink from blood, sank to her knees, a gurgle boiling out of her throat as she clutched at the wound torn across her stomach.

  
Evangeline, officially one of the most level headed people Alistair had ever met, moved quickly, pushing Fenris aside before he could finish the job and kneeling next to the fallen woman. She gently pulled her helm off, sending her into fits of coughing that shot blood from between her lips. Her eyes were wild, with fear most likely, although Alistair felt uncomfortable watching them dart around the clearing, seeing but not really _seeing_ anything, as though she were only half there, her mind scattered, both with them and somewhere else.

  
“Rhys, can you heal her?” Evangeline asked as she calmly smoothed the woman’s blonde hair back from her face, a gesture strikingly out of place coming from the woman who had dispatched so many others only moments ago.

Rhys looked her up and down before averting his eyes from the gaping wound in her stomach, shaking his head sadly. “No. There’s already too much damage. She has maybe a few hours, at most.”

“Why did you attack?” Evangeline asked her, speaking softly, as one would to a frightened child.

“We must…” the warden coughed, the sound coming from her throat horribly wet as she drowned slowly in her own blood. “We must end the blights.”

“What do I have to do with _that_?” Alistair was nonplussed as he stared down at her.

“We must end the threat of the blights.” She repeated, as though she hadn’t heard him.

“She’s delirious.” Fenris scoffed.

“Um, is it too much pain? Could we ease her suffering?” Merrill twisted the edges of her sleeves around her thumbs, biting her lower lip.

“We must end the threat of the blights we must end the threat of the blights we must end the threat of the blights…” the warden was chanting under her breath now, the words slipping and sliding from her tongue, slick with gore and madness.

“Look at her, that isn’t pain behind those pretty blue eyes.” Isabela said, wrapping her arms around herself as though she were cold, despite the healthy sheen of sweat covering her tan skin. She was right, he realized. Alistair could see a great deal in the woman's fevered gaze, but pain didn't seem to be part of it.

Evangeline leaned closer, positioning her face directly over the warden’s so she was forced to look at her. “Can you hear me? Why are the wardens attacking other wardens? Why have they all been recalled to Weisshaupt?”

“We must end the threat of the blights.” She continued her litany, her voice rising in an unnerving crescendo, the fevered mumbling climbing in both pitch and tempo. “We must end the threat of the blights we must end the threat of the blights we MUST end the THREAT OF THE BLIGHTS WE MUST END THE THREAT OF THE BLIGHTS.” She was screaming now, the veins in her neck pulsing with the strain, the horrible sound of her garbled voice bouncing against the trees like the call of a dying dragon, disfigured at the end of its wretched days. “WE MUST END THE THREAT-“

Alistair cut her off with a precise thrust of his sword, driving the blade through her armor and straight into her heart. Her eyes went wider, a shuddering gasp passing through her as she lurched upward into the hit before falling back to the ground, limply, her eyes truly unseeing now as they clouded over in death. The group gathered looked at him in shock, although if it was truly for his actions or from the insanity they had just been witness to he could not say.

“I’d heard enough.” He said stiffly.

As they cleaned themselves off and prepared to move on none of them spoke, the echoes of her screams lurking in the back of their minds like demons prowling the edges of the fade, clawing and scratching at the seams and trying to work their way in. If none of them had known what to make of the warning about the wardens before, they could now all agree it was something to be taken seriously from this point on.


	18. I Will Always Save You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Autumn seeks the help of a certain mage and Lilly tries to talk to Anders.

She woke up with the sheets fisted in her hands, pulled tight around her sweat dampened skin as though she had tried to use the overpriced silks as a shield against the horrors that flitted through her mind. The midafternoon sun slanted through the windows, tempered by the partial cloud cover every few moments so that the color in the room faded, from gold to grey and every shade in between. Autumn sat up in her bed, her head swimming with the leftover dredges of the nightmare, and she wasn’t sure what she should be more disappointed about: the figure that struck terror in her heart even beyond the grave, or the fact that she had failed, yet again, to enter the fade lucidly.

  
She closed her eyes, filling her lungs with the clean air drifting through the open balcony doors, using the clean scent of rain and snow capped mountain peaks to wash away the lingering shame her nightmares brought. It made sense that she had nightmares, was something she had always expected after facing down Corypheus and his blighted dragon. The content of said nightmares, however, shocked her every time, and it was only with great effort she could ignore the lingering vestiges of fear and helplessness that would fill her when they struck.

  
Cullen still suffered the occasional nighttime horror, as well. They would make him toss and turn in their bed, sometimes calling out violently until she could still his erratic heart. He never spoke of what it was that could drive him into such madness, and she knew enough about what he had been through to know not to ask for details. As a result he never asked what it was that tortured her when she woke up with tears already pouring down cheeks that were too hot and stretched taught in a grimace. She let him assume it was Corypheus that stalked her in the night, because that was easier. It was simpler to allow him that than to have to sit and explain to him that the thing that made her scream in terror wasn’t the creature that had threatened the destruction of the world, but the man who had walked at his side. It bordered on being a secret, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to admit it was _Samson_ who hid in the shadows of her mind, his yellow eyes burning holes through her as his sweaty palms pulled apart her armor. It made her feel disgusting, especially considering all that had truly been at stake, that the attempted destruction of the world had impacted her less than the threat of something _almost_ happening to her body.

  
The beating she had received was never the problem. Beatings had been a regular occurrence as she fought her way through red Templar and demons, and the physical pain she had suffered, even the extreme instance in the Temple of Mythal, had never been able to shake her courage in the least. The hunger in his eyes, though, the growl in his voice as he had described what he wanted to do to her…those things had scarred her somehow, in a way she had no idea how to heal, left something raw and bleeding within her that she had tried to ignore for long enough that it had simply become a part of her, festering in the darkness where nobody could see her breaking. She could face Corypheus again, if she had to. She could find the other magisters, should they exist, and fight them with a steady hand. Samson, however…sometimes she had to focus hard to remind herself he wasn’t still out there looking for her, had to close her eyes and remember what it had felt like to plunge her daggers into his back over and over again, remember that his blood had coated her hands and that there was no coming back from where she had sent him.

  
Autumn stood, shaking her head as she tossed the sheet onto the bed. There was no sense in dwelling on it. He was gone, Corypheus was gone, and neither of them were worth wasting her thoughts on at the moment. They could have her dreams, if that was the price she paid to defeat them, but they could not have her thoughts in the waking world. She pulled out her clothes and dressed, opting for leather breeches and a long-sleeved top whose collar climbed all the way up her neck. She grimaced at her own silly need to cover up, hating that her very skin felt unsafe after such nightmares. She ignored the urge to put on an extra layer and left her quarters behind, taking the steps quickly with a brief nod to Bryce as she left.

  
It was strange, she mused as she walked through the great hall, how the stakes of what was happening were so much lower, and yet it felt like they pulled at her harder. Perhaps it was because failure seemed so much more likely. With Corypheus, failure just wasn’t an option. If she failed, it was the end of all things, the world as they knew it crumbling into the depths of depravity the would-be god brought forth. She had certainly had doubt, certainly feared failure, but now…the world would likely still be turning if Anders happened to die. Those who knew him would be utterly destroyed, Lilly would perish along with him as surely as if they shared the same heart, but the world at large would continue on, blissfully unaware that it was even missing a piece of its grand puzzle. It would be so _easy_ to fail this time, to let time slip away from her until they really had none left, to let Justice swallow Anders until there was nothing left to save and they had no choice but to destroy him, or let him destroy himself. The world would be fine, but would _she_? Could she look Lilly Hawke in the eye after failing to save the _one thing_ she had asked for? Could she still call herself a friend to Varric and Cullen, knowing their friend was gone because of her failure? And it was surely on her shoulders, just as surely as it had been _her_ task to stop Corypheus. This had all been placed at her feet, and whether by fate or coincidence or fucking providence it didn’t matter, because it was in her keep, it was her home, her friends that it would destroy. If Anders died it would be on her head, and that made everything seem darker and heavier. She had no answers, no solutions other than to go looking for a ghost who had run away from her the first chance he got, and the bitter fear of losing was constantly sticking to the back of her throat and making everything she had to say feel forced until she had a plan.

  
She was vaguely startled when she realized she had already reached her destination, the little welcome mat painted in Cole’s child-like hand already beneath her feet. She rapped her knuckles against the door, the comforting sounds of domesticity carrying through the wood to greet her even before Bull yanked it open. The massive man gave her a large grin, his white teeth all but shining at her as he laughed amicably. She was hit with the smell of the oil Bull used to polish armor and weapons, the undercurrent of something decidedly spicy coming from their kitchen, and merging with all of it were the sweet tones of sugar cookies she was rapidly growing to associate with Cole. He had taken a liking to eating, once he had gotten the hang of it, particularly cookies, and she almost never saw him without a pocket full of the confections, crumbs tumbling out of the holes in the fabric.

  
“Hey boss!” Bull declared before pulling her into a massive hug that picked her up off her feet.

  
“Bull, you just saw me at breakfast.” she mumbled in protest, her words slightly muffled as she spoke into his chest. She would never admit the impromptu embrace was exactly what she needed.

  
“True, but you looked like you could use a hug.” he replied, setting her down gingerly with an expression on his face that told her he already _knew_ she would never admit she needed the hug, and he wasn’t going to say anything. Maker damned Ben-hassrath training. “Come on in.” he waved her inward, opening the door wider so she could make her way into the small apartment. The walls were lined with expensive paintings depicting an odd mix of things, from moderately risqué portrayals of ridiculously attractive men (surprisingly only a handful of these were of either Dorian or Bull), to rather elaborate depictions of battles, some of which would be entirely unbelievable had Autumn not been there to personally witness the particular moments commissioned for the pieces. One of the walls in the larger room was taken up entirely by portraits of all their friends, a particularly beautiful painting of herself and Cullen on their wedding day as the shining centerpiece. Bull led her into the sitting area where she was greeted with a heartwarming sight: Dorian, perched on one of the rather brightly colored couches, book open in his lap as he read aloud to Cole, who was stretched out on the floor, listening intently while Baron Plucky hopped around his head, nipping playfully at his pale hair.

  
Upon her entrance Cole sat up, his face coming alight with excitement. “Autumn!” he cried, and Baron Plucky cawed in mild agitation next to him, his tiny black head tilted curiously at her. Dorian stopped in the middle of his sentence, his own face splitting into a warm smile, although she could see worry hidden under his carefully arranged serenity, a reflection of the tension she carried around within herself. Bull took a seat across the room, picking up the weapon he had apparently been sharpening and returning to his work with quiet efficiency.

  
“Good afternoon Cole. How's my favorite crow doing?” she knelt down, ruffling his hair playfully while she eyed Baron Plucky, wondering if the bird would be pleased to see her or try to nest in her hair again.

  
“Ugh, the little beast has bitten me three times today alone.” Dorian groused, snapping the book shut dramatically before he set it on the table next to his seat. Baron Plucky responded with a shrill cry, his feathers puffing around his neck.

  
“He bites because he wants you to remember. Black, bound, burdened. He looks the same as all the other crows, but this way everyone will always know who he is.” Cole frowned slightly, as though reproaching Dorian for his callousness. “That's why I like him, he only hurts to feel real. I did that once. I will teach him another way, like my friends taught me.”

  
“Cole, who could possibly forget about you?” Dorian replied, and the acid in his voice had melted into honey. They knew full well he used to be able to make people forget him, but Dorian preferred to pretend that span of time didn’t actually exist. Dorian had become relatively protective over Cole in the months since Corypheus’ defeat, even going so far as to have him move in with Bull and himself when he learned that not only was the boy sleeping in a corner of the tavern, but that he had never actually had a “home” by any normal definition of the term. Now the three of them made one amazingly strange family, but it was a family that seemed to work together well.

  
“Lots of people.” Cole shrugged innocently as he answered, and he apparently considered the conversation over as he started intently stroking the bird, who cooed happily in response.

  
Autumn moved to take a seat next to Dorian, throwing herself against him so that her head fell unceremoniously into his lap. He raised an eyebrow at her but kept himself from speaking whatever sarcastic retort was sparkling behind his gaze. He adjusted slightly so they would both be more comfortable and reached down, pulling at one of her curls lightly so that it stretched out before he let it go to watch it spring back into place. “You look positively somber, lovely.” he declared.

  
She remained silent for a moment, taking comfort in the close contact, not quite wanting to explain what she needed to because part of her still stubbornly wished she could solve the problem on her own. Or at least that it didn’t hurt so much to try digging out the solution. “Dorian, I need your help.”

  
“Of course you do. Everyone needs my help.” he preened. Bull snorted without looking up, earning him a glare from the audacious mage.

  
“Deflate your ego, Pavus.” she slapped his chest with the back of her hand, to which he rolled his eyes. She waited the span of several more heartbeats before finally giving in and opting to just get straight to the point. “We need to find Solas.”

  
“Right, because we haven't been trying to do that for the past several months.” Bull scoffed.

  
“Not really. I mean, I've had scouts looking for him, but there's something more I think I can do.” she hedged.

  
“And why, pray tell, have you not done it yet?” Dorian asked.

  
“Well, in part because I was hoping he would eventually come back on his own. I also...I don't know, I guess I wanted to respect his choice, I didn't want to chase after him if he didn't want to be found.” she shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just mad at him for leaving.” She added quietly.

  
Dorian continued to run his fingers through some of her hair, pulling it into loose layers. “So, what is this great secret ability of yours, then?”

  
“I think I can find him in the fade.” she said.

  
“Of _course_ it’s the fade.” Bull muttered.

  
Dorian let out a low whistle, ignoring the other man’s bitter complaint. “The fade is an awfully big place, dearest. What makes you think you can find him?”

  
“Well, I've done it before by accident, while I was sleeping. Something about the mark let me go in, like mages do sometimes, and I went straight to him.” She held up her hand, both of them looking at the dark green mark on her palm, still glittering like a crystalline gem, although the glow hadn’t been back since they had sealed the breach for the final time. “But I don't seem to be able to trigger it on my own. I'm reasonably certain that if you can get my consciousness back into the fade I can find him again.”

  
“Exactly how certain is _reasonably_ certain?” Bull eyed her with trepidation.

  
“Er... _reasonably_?” she grinned at him. “I mean, isn’t half of all that garbage about the fade to do with intent? I _intend_ to find him, so we should be able to, right?”

  
Dorian’s finely sculpted brows met above the bridge of his nose. “ _Theoretically_. There’s a whole lot of variables that can muck things up between here and there.”

  
She sat up, turning so she could look her friend full in the face. “I know it’s not fail-proof, but we don’t have a lot of other options. If we don’t get help Justice is going to destroy what’s left of Anders, and likely take Lilly down with him. I can’t just sit around and do _nothing_ about it.” _I won't have his blood on my hands_ , she thought, but she kept that portion firmly in her own head.

  
“He isn’t Justice anymore.” Cole said, sounding small and ominous as his little features twisted into a grimace. “Righteous, raging, rigid, little pieces of what he was have disappeared over time. He wasn’t a demon before, but he has no redemption now. He wouldn’t like it if you said it, but that doesn’t make it less true.”

  
“Can you still talk with him, Cole?” Dorian asked him. “Like you did when you helped save Cullen?”

  
“I _could_. I don’t like to. He is very angry now.” He replied.

  
Dorian frowned again, but turned back to Autumn. She could see his mind churning, already going over the mental calculations to do what she was asking. “Well, I can certainly prepare something to get you into the fade. It would be a good idea to send a few people with you, and I can’t be one of them if I’m performing the rituals…you also might not want to bring Cullen, as this will involve a great deal of lyrium, and I wouldn’t recommend him being anywhere near it, just in case.” He met her eyes, searching them for a minute, as though hoping to see another alternative within her she had not managed to find herself. “I really don’t like this, but I suppose there isn’t any reasoning with you, is there?”

  
She grinned impishly, hoping that she looked far more reassuring than she felt. “Has it ever worked before?” all three of the men in the room groaned, and Baron Plucky added in a grumbling chortle for good measure. She rolled her eyes at them before an idea abruptly occurred to her. “You know, Cole, I know you don’t like it, but if you can hear Justice perhaps you should be helping keep watch over Anders until we can cure him.”

  
“I can do that.” Cole said. “If he breaks the chains again I can tell Cullen.”

  
Dorian nodded. “Good idea. In the meantime, figure out who you are dragging into this mess. I’ll need time to gather what I need, but you should expect it to be ready by the end of the week.”

  
“So, you dragging me back into demontown Boss?” Bull asked her.

  
“Looks like it. I mean, if you’re scared I could also go find some other Qunari to pummel demons.” She twirled one of her curls around her finger, feigning innocence.

  
“Fuck yeah I’m scared, but if you want to increase your chances of _not dying_ , I’d suggest taking me anyways.” He chuckled at her.

  
“Excellent.” She clapped her hands on her thighs before standing up. “I’ll go let the others know.” She walked out of their apartment forcing her shoulders back, hoping that exuding an air of confidence outwardly might shake the incredibly _bad_ feeling she had in the pit of her stomach.

 

***

 

Lilly had to take the stairs down to the dungeon slowly. One agonizing step at a time. Her entire body felt like it had been dragged several miles along a riverbed lined with cut glass, every muscle protesting even the simplest of movements. The healers had offered to assist her, and she had even accepted their help as far as the outer door, but she didn’t want anyone else there when she saw him. She didn’t need anyone’s eyes observing the breakdown she was likely to have. If he looked anywhere as bad as she felt, which she could only assume he did since he would have been aware of what was happening to her, then it would break her heart. Lilly was getting used to having her heart broken, but that didn’t mean she needed an audience for it.

  
So, she clung to the railing and dragged herself downward at and agonizingly slow pace, inching her way down to see him so that she could look into his eyes and make sure she still saw Anders in there. She hadn’t been to see him yet, her injuries keeping her holed up in the infirmary as the days dragged on interminably. Even that wouldn’t have kept her, had it not been for the very bossy spymaster insisting she remain in bed until cleared for movement. Lilly had gained a new appreciation for Autumn’s frustration during her time in the Emprise du Lion, which had amused the Inquisitor greatly during her frequent visits. If it weren’t for Vivienne she would have disobeyed orders and made her way down anyways, but the woman’s threat to permanently sedate her did not at _all_ seem empty, and Lilly was not prepared to risk it. She had finally been cleared for movement early this morning, and she had whiled away most of the day in anticipation for her chance to get up and make her way across the massive keep. She had never cursed Skyhold’s size quite so much as she was now.

  
The dungeons, however, were remarkably small. As she shuffled her way out of the stairwell and into the sparsely lit room she counted only about six cells, all of which were empty, save one. Two Templar stood at attention on either side of the doorway, the torchlight casting dancing patterns of glimmering orange against the well-polished silverite. They no longer wore the Templar insignia, most of those in the Inquisition dropping it in favor of plain armor or the Inquisition emblem, but she could still spot a Templar a mile away. Running from them for years would do that to a person.

  
The pair gave her a stiff salute when they saw her, and she took a moment to remind herself these Templar were on her side, and that the creeping fight or flight response making her heart start pounding was unnecessary. She tilted her head, indicating they move to outside the door. They looked at each other, clearly questioning if they should or not, but a sharp glare from her had them deciding it couldn’t possibly be as bad as making her angry.

  
“We’ll be right outside, if you need anything, my lady.” One of them said, her voice tinny through the grating of her helm. Lilly nodded, waiting for them to go before she moved in front of the cell.

  
Anders sat huddled on the small cot in the corner, folded in on himself and shivering like a new born babe abandoned in the snow. His hair was unbrushed, matted in places and falling out of the tie that normally held it back, his brow coated in a sheen of unhealthy sweat. There was a tray of food off to the side, largely untouched, the grease around the grey meat congealed and wholly unappetizing, a disturbing mirror of what had been served for dinner yesterday. She wrapped her hands around the bars, leaning into them until she felt the cold steel press against her forehead. He glanced up, his haunted eyes brimming with tears at the sight of her.

  
“You should not have come.” He croaked.

  
“Anders.” She whispered his name, a reproach and a prayer all tangled up at once on her tongue. She held her hand through the bars, reaching out for him even though he was too far away to touch. The few feet between them might as well have been a giant chasm, a split so wide she worried not even her love could carry across to reach him.

  
He looked at her palm and shook his head. “Don’t. You need to stay away from me.”

  
Something deep inside her broke and she sank to her knees, gripping the metal in fists that burned with a need to tear something apart, anger and hurt coiled in a little ball and shredding away her patience. “I’ll think of something. Anders, don’t give up. I’ll still find a way.”

  
“You need to leave me. You need to stay away, get as far away as you can. I can’t…” he shuddered, closing his eyes against the railing madness she knew he was fighting.

  
“You know I can’t do that.” She whispered.

  
“Damnit Lilly, I mean it. Leave me, forget about me. I don’t want to see you anymore. I can’t keep doing this, and Justice wants to…” his voice fractured, shattering around the words he didn’t need to say. She knew Justice wanted her dead, the spirit had made that _abundantly_ clear at the gates. His respect for her had finally reached its end, and she was back to being the woman that stood in his way, a distraction from everything he felt important. “I can’t stop him. I can’t stop Justice anymore.”

  
“Fuck Justice. Fuck him and his twisted ideals and his flawed logic. Fuck what he did to you, what he did to Kirkwall, what he did to me, to _us_. _Fuck_. _Him_.” She snarled, her knuckles going ash white around the solid bars. She wanted to rip the door away and hold him, press her hands to his chest and feel his heart and promise him salvation with her lips.

  
He turned away from her, curling back into himself and facing the wall. “ _Go away_.”

  
“No.” she said resolutely. He didn’t respond, his back curved against the shivering that spread through him, the bones of his spine pressing out starkly against the thin fabric of his robe. “Damnit Anders, _no_. You don’t get to shut me out.” His silence was deafening, roaring in her ears like a beast on the warpath, its claws raking across her heart. “This isn’t over. Do you hear that Justice? You don’t get him. _You can't have him.  He doesn't belong to you_.” Her voice was rising, shooting up in volume until she heard her words echo back to her from the stonework above. The Templar threw open the door, rushing in with frightened eyes to investigate the commotion. She stood, slamming her hands angrily against the bars that separated them, the bars he hid behind. “Anders. I love you so much I will _always_ save you.” She swore, calling on a promise she’d made long ago and repeated often, one she would kill herself to keep if she had to. None of them deserved this, what Justice was doing to them. Least of all him.

  
She spun away and left, moving as fast as her body would allow, resolutely avoiding the sorrowful gazes of the Templar.


	19. Only Demons Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders continues to struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to warn you guys now we are right on the cusp of the first big story arc here, and the way I have it planned it might be kind of a wild ride. There IS some fluff/happiness sprinkled in, but there is a whole lot of tension/action/angst. So...be prepared. :D 
> 
> Whose ready for the Fade????? >:D

His heart beat like a shattered bottle, the pieces clacking together tied to strings on the wind, the wind howling like a storm breaking against the mountainside, the mountainside crumbling away until there was nothing left but little shards of everything. Nothing in him was whole, nothing in him made sense, nothing was left that didn’t hurt with the strain. Still, though, he held on, clinging to the tattered remains of a life he was promised, a life he had fought for, a life that she promised she would always save. It had been minutes, it had been hours, it had been a thousand years that he’d been lost in this cell, and still he would hold on.

  
Anders wouldn’t give up. She had asked that of him, hadn’t she? He thought he could remember that. It seemed a long time ago, an eon since he had turned away and felt the sharp pain in her voice scraping against his back like nails dragged across raw stone. _Justice_ remembered. He screamed about it incessantly, about her failures, about her shortcomings, about how _corrupted_ she had become. He fixated on her, as though she were the source of the warden’s evil, the source of _all_ evil, drifting into this world merely to stand in the way of all that was right and righteous. Somehow, in the twisted mind of a spirit gone mad, Lilly Hawke was the greatest embodiment of sin, and Justice was determined to kill her. His loathing was all consuming, white hot against the back of his eyes whenever he closed them, burning coals simmering in his stomach so that he wanted to retch, to expel all the negativity until there was nothing left within him but empty echoes and ash.

  
_Let me free._ Justice whispered, except that the whisper was a screech, a hand reaching into his head and ripping out his eardrums to toss them into an avalanche.

  
_You cannot have me_. He repeated, just as he had a thousand times already, a litany that looped in his head, her words a shield against the blades of his thrashing. And then, because he always did, he added:  _You will_ never  _have her._

  
She was gone. She was safe. She was away from him, as she always should have been. He clung to the hope that she would save him, but he feared her ever coming anywhere near him again. He prayed to the Maker that when he was gone she would move on. That she would find someone deserving of her beautiful heart, someone whole and perfect that could sweep her off her feet and heal all the scars that loving him had left within her. When he disintegrated into nothingness she would finally be set free, and he only hoped her wings weren’t already too broken to fly.

  
Justice would break free again. He could not hold him forever, and whatever help that would come could not come in time. He knew this, felt it in his bones like it was a part of him, and yet still he repeated her promises to himself. She would _always_ save him. It was a vow, the only one he had let her make to him, the only thing they had in lieu of a ring and a ceremony, in place of the perfect future she deserved. It was wrong, so wrong for him to hope, but he clung to it even as he knew it was false, because it was the very last thing holding him together. When there was nothing left to a man, nothing left but false hope and hopeless promises, what could he do but hold onto it?

  
_She will die.  They will all die._

  
_Fuck you, Justice_. He used her words again. It was her words that would save him, that had the potential to stick when nothing else could.

  
He was answered in rage, fury so perfect he could do little else than whisper her name against its tide.

  
“Lilly.”

  
His heart beat, like a shattered bottle. Justice beat him, like stone breaking through the crumbling glass of a broken windowpane. There were only so many pieces a man could become before he was dust. He couldn’t count them, so he counted the promises they had made. _Always_ , she said. It was something. Even if it was nothing, he would still believe it was something.

 

***

 

Cole sat in the far corner of the room. He didn’t like being any closer, because then he could feel the furious tumult inside the crumbling man. Anders was good, pure and kind and soft against the jagged edges that ground inside him, and it hurt to sit too closely while the thing that had been Justice tried to tear him down.

  
Anders was failing. His heart and his body were dropping lower by the minute, drown out by the thrumming pulses of the angry fade trapped within him. It wouldn’t be long now. Maybe seconds, maybe minutes, but not longer.

  
He stood, holding out his arm so that Baron Plucky hopped along his sleeve, his little eyes full of love and curiosity as he looked back at Cole.

“I think it might be time now.” Cole told him. The crow ruffled his feathers, quorking his understanding before he took flight, fluffy black down falling gently to the ground as his wings carried him to the window high up on the wall. Cole watched him go before he walked to the edge of the square cage, the outer wall containing the inner prison, lonely, longing, and livid in chains that didn’t make sense and hurt the binder and the bound. The two Templar guards watched him warily, their suspicion dancing at the edge of his skin like the mist on the ground before the sun rose.

“He’s coming.” Cole told them, and the Templar believed him, drawing their blades and aiming them at the cell.

Anders jerked, his body contorting as he gave a final effort, one more chance to resist the inevitable. He thought he was dying, that this would be the end, that there were too many pieces to pick up in the aftermath of the crash. Anders was saying goodbye to Lilly in his head like she were there, and Cole could feel the way he remembered soft hands, gentle sighs, warm love that hurt when it should have healed because he didn’t think he deserved it.

  
Then Anders was gone, swallowed in a swirl of blue that snapped across the air like lightning and sent tingles across his skin. The Templar felt it too, their lyrium thrumming to life as they chanted the words that helped them find their strength. The words meant less than the intention, but if it helped then it was good to say them. Cole had learned it didn’t help to point out things like that. It was better to believe, sometimes, than to know the truth.

“Compassion.” Justice snarled, glaring at Cole as his fingers wrapped around the bars. The Templar cast their spells, and Cole could feel the effort dissolve in the air before it reached the demon, like blades of grass thrown into the fire. Their skills were wrong, wrought in shapes that twisted around the edges and missed all of the points of purpose. They would not be enough, because the song in their bones was still fresh, it was young and different, and though the words they spoke might be the same, the power they held wasn’t right for the task.

“Go get the Commander.” Cole told them. Their dazed faces registered his command, and there was only a small flurry of doubt before they listened. It was good. Cullen would already be coming, Baron Plucky would have already arrived in his office, but it was good to have them explain before he got here. It would take him less time to help.

“You think you can stop me, Compassion?” Justice sneered, using muscles in Anders face that were meant for smiling, contorting them to suit his needs.

“I am not compassion anymore.” Cole told him. “And you’re no longer Justice.”

The thing in front of him screamed, shouting his anger through the mana swirling in the room, trying to rattle him. Cole could taste the fade on the tip of his tongue, but it didn’t scare him. He wouldn’t let it shake him this time. He had a job to do. Anders thought he was dying, but Cole didn’t think it was time for that yet. If he couldn’t hold on by himself, Cole would just have to help him make it a little longer.

“Cullen is coming. We’ll pull you back out and you can make it. You just have to remember what it means if you live.”

“Anders cannot hear you. He is submitting to the will of the righteous! He will sacrifice himself for a cause more worthy than the price of one mortal soul could ever be.” Justice snapped.

“You don’t know the worth of a soul anymore.” He stared the demon down, letting the full weight of his meaning settle in behind his eyes. “Anders _does_ hear me, and only demons lie.” Cole spoke softly, filling his voice with the faintness that would set the creature of rage and revenge on edge. It screamed, flickering brightly in a fit of anger that overtook its sensibilities. It was distracted. “Anders, remember Lilly. She won’t move on without you, so you can’t let go. She needs you, and you can make it.”

For a moment, too short to be more than a brief flutter, a shift in air pressure that made his ears pop, almost imperceptible, but it was there…for a moment Anders came through again, the fire in his eyes burning as he nodded at Cole. The demon overtook him once more, but Cole knew he had done his job. He had helped.

 

***

 

The crow flew erratic circles in the sky above his head as he raced down the steps, his boots heavy and clunky on his feet as his nerves seemed to blare in alarm. The two Templar running up the stairs towards him paused, surprised he had already left his office. He recognized them as the guards from the cell and the tiny ball of tension in his stomach grew, sinking low in his belly like an ever expanding stone tossed into a well.

  
“Commander! The apostate lost control again!” one of them shouted, giving him a salute as he barreled past them with hardly a glance.

“Then why are you here? And the ' _Apostate_ ' has a name, one I expect you to use.” he snapped. The pair took about half a second to orient themselves, an anxiety filled glance shared between them, before they were following behind him obediently.

  
“Yes, ser, sorry, ser. We tried to subdue Master Anders with the cleansing aura, as you suggested, but it had no effect! The spirit - er, Master Cole sent us to get you.” the Templar stumbled over the ex-spirit's name only slightly. Cullen frowned in response to the information, wondering exactly what that meant. Had the demon learned to counteract the Templar abilities so quickly? Or had Cullen merely gotten lucky last time around?

He threw open the door to the dungeons, taking the steps two at a time as he was nearly drowned in the flow of mana that rushed out at him, seeping through the cracks in the stone around him. The overflow of power poisoning the air made him dizzy, his vision blurring slightly as he waded through it to reach the cells. He pushed open the inner door and took in the horrific scene there in the span of one long, drawn out heartbeat.

Cole was gripping the bars, his chest pressed against them as Justice had a hold of him, glowing fingers wrapped around the boy's neck as he shouted unintelligibly, shaking him mercilessly. Cole was gritting his teeth, his face an ugly shade of red, but he didn't appear to be trying to get away or struggle, limp in the perilous embrace. Baron Plucky, who had flown in through the window placed near the ceiling, let out an ear piercing screech before diving at the pair, sharp claws raking against Justice as he tried to pull poor Cole through the grating. The demon screamed at the little bird, but otherwise ignored him in favor of sneering at the group that had just entered the room.

Cullen started chanting for his own cleansing aura, the familiar words already summoning the aching power in his bones. Maker, but it _hurt_ , far more than last time, and he almost lost his concentration as his body practically vibrated with the unusual sensations. It felt like someone was drawing the flat edge of a blade up and down his bones, scraping away at the dregs of power burned into them from years of lyrium use. It burned, ached, itched and tingled in a way that made him want to claw away at his skin, scratch off layer after layer until he could release whatever it was that shuddered in his veins. Breaking the bones would have been less unsettling, less painful, but he clenched his jaw and persevered. Justice, who was not caught unawares this time, brought forth his own magic, calling lightning into the air that set everyone's hair rising on end. They faced one another as the electricity swarmed around Cullen, snapping at his skin and stinging wherever it hit, like a swarm of wasps dancing around his body. He ignored it, in part because he was disciplined as such, and in part because the pain of trying to use his abilities was far greater, making the stings hardly noticeable.

  
Cullen was, thankfully, faster than Justice when it came to unleashing anything that could cause any real damage, and the aura that burst out of him made the air taste sweet, like honeyed mist drifting across his lips. Once again when it hit the demon he reeled back, staggering before falling onto his hands and knees, the glow subsiding, and the sizzling and popping of too much magic in one place disappearing all at once, leaving only the hollow sounds of Anders' labored breathing to carry through the room. Cole was leaning heavily against the bars, an angry purple bruise spreading across the fair skin around his neck, but the color of his face was back to normal and he appeared to be breathing evenly.

  
“What did you do?” Anders huffed, one hand moving to cradle his head. His whole body shook, but it seemed to be with exhaustion rather than any effort to hold Justice back. “I can't...I can't hear him anymore.” The relief in his voice was palpable, practically shining around him like an aura of hope.

  
“He's there, but deeper down. The song is different now.” Cole said, looking at Cullen with wide blue eyes.

  
“Are you alright Cole?” Cullen moved to take the boy's chin in hand, tilting his head so he could examine his neck. Bull would kill him for letting him get hurt. “Why didn't you fight him?”

Cole's lips twitched subtly, a movement that was almost a smile. “I had to keep him distracted long enough for you to get here.”

Anders stood shakily, pulling himself up by the bars of the cell so he could face them. “Thank you, Cole. If you hadn't been here he would have broken out and gone straight for Lilly.”

“I know.” Cole replied. Baron Plucky alighted on his shoulder, nipping irritably at Cullen's fingers. He drew his hand back, satisfied that Cole was not seriously injured beyond some bruising.

“So, why was I able to do what _two_ other Templar could not?” Cullen asked.

“Whatever you did felt strange. My magic is still gone, but it feels unusual...like you hit Justice without hitting me...and the loss of magic is more a side effect to what happened, as opposed to the purpose.” Anders mused.

“I didn't do anything different...Although Maker's breath, trying to cast even the most basic cleanse hurts.” Cullen scratched at the fine layer of stubble dusting his jaw, tilting his neck to ease the strain in muscles that suddenly felt overworked. His body felt bruised and tired, as though he had spent an entire day rolling down a hillside covered in rocks.

“Maybe because you stopped the lyrium?” Anders proposed. “Perhaps it alters the abilities once the lyrium is completely out of the system...” he sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. “Whatever it is, I hope you can do it again when Justice inevitably wakes back up. Will you be able to manage the pain?”

“I can endure.” Cullen responded resolutely.

“The Iron Lady could help, if you let her.” Cole suggested.

Cullen glanced at him surreptitiously. “I suppose you're going to tell Autumn that, aren't you?”

“Yes.” he grinned, likely because he heard the resignation in Cullen's head without him having to voice it.

“I'll go see her later.” Cullen waved off the concern, knowing full well he wouldn’t get out of it, and slightly resentful of the fact that his friends thought to babysit him. “YOU should make sure to get to the healers as well.” he aimed a finger at the ripe mark on Cole’s neck. Cole merely nodded his assent as the crow nudged affectionately at his cheek.

“So...is this our plan then? I choke Cole and you run in and smite the living void out of me?” Anders asked.

“That won't work again.” Cole warned. “He won’t get distracted by me twice.”

“ _The plan_  is to hold out until Autumn can speak to Solas.” Cullen said forcibly. “They’re going into the fade to find him tomorrow, I believe.”

Anders frowned. “She's going with them, isn't she?”

Cullen didn't need to ask him who he meant. “For what it's worth, several people tried to talk her out of it. I wouldn’t be overly concerned, though. Autumn will make sure Lilly gets back in one piece.”

“Cullen...” his gaze shifted to the floor as he shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Don't let her give up if I'm gone.”

“Don't talk like that, Anders...”

“I'm just being realistic.” he shrugged morosely. “If any of you had any sense you would kill me now, while you have the chance.”

For a moment Cullen had no response for that. Ten years ago he might have even agreed, and cut him down for the danger he posed to those around them. Even now he was hard pressed to find a reason to keep fighting like this. There were so many people in Skyhold that were under their care, and if Justice escaped he could kill countless men and women in his rage. It seemed insufferably selfish of them to keep him alive merely because he was their friend. Yet Cullen couldn’t bring himself to draw his blade, couldn’t imagine dealing a blow that would end a life so many held dear. Despite all his shortcomings and problems, Anders was a good man. A good man who had been drawn down a dark path by the world and its cruel tendencies, which was a story so tauntingly familiar to Cullen it put an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the strange Templar abilities he now had.

“Wait!” Cullen cried, the thought of his abilities igniting an idea in his mind that cast a new ray of hope onto the situation. “You said Justice is quiet now, right? Which means he isn’t trying to break out?” Anders nodded. “What if we don’t wait until he tries to break free? What if I perform a cleanse every time you start to feel him wake up? We could keep him properly subdued until Autumn can get help.”

Anders stared at him, his gaze full of doubt and trepidation. “I would be cut off from magic almost completely until then…” he stared at his hands, as though his abilities were something he could see in his fingertips. He clenched them into fists, his jaw set as he looked back up at them. “No, it’s worth it. I don’t know if it will still subdue him, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

Cullen saw the hint of genuine hope in his friend’s eyes, and he felt it spread within himself. Perhaps this was not all doomed, perhaps they could pull this off. Perhaps Anders wasn’t destined to destroy himself, after all.


	20. As Dead as she Remembered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we enter the fade.

The room had been prepared ahead of time, Dorian taking great pains to ensure there would be little interference from anything once the ritual had begun. Wards had been set up around the room just in case, preventing anyone and anything from leaving or entering without a special charm he had crafted. This would prevent the sleepers from being tampered with in the event Justice escaped and sought Lilly out. Makeshift beds had been laid out with lavish blankets and pillows, a touch that was wholly unnecessary as far as the party was concerned, but Dorian was fussing over their possible comfort levels so much they didn’t have the heart to argue.

  
Autumn tried not to be irritated while Vivienne and Cullen hovered in the room, inspecting everything from the wards and the potions to the frills at the ends of the pillows, fretting about the safety of the team in the only way they knew how: nitpicking incessantly. Neither of them would be able to come with them, Vivienne having too many duties as spymaster now to be able to venture out on fieldwork like this anymore, while Cullen could not take the potions required to put them in their magical sleep, as they contained trace amounts of lyrium. Autumn was pleased with the party she had been able to gather, though. Having Lilly, Cassandra, Bull, Cole, and Varric along made things seem like they _had_ to turn out in their favor, although everyone was still nervous about the fact that they were going into the fade without an actual mage. There wouldn’t be anything Dorian could do to pull them out from this side of things after they were under, which added an extra element of tension to the situation, but there weren’t any other options. Justice was adequately contained, for now, but it required Cullen to perform a cleansing smite roughly every five hours, which was exhausting to both men involved. Both of them were refusing to complain about it, of course, but the dark circles under their eyes and the way Cullen winced when he donned his armor in the mornings told Autumn all she needed to know. It wasn’t a permanent solution, merely a gauzy bandage wrapped around a gaping wound that would bleed through the flimsy cloth in no time if they couldn’t treat the problem head on.

  
Eventually Vivienne declared everything satisfactory and excused herself, sweeping out of the room with the air of a woman who thought she ruled the world, a scary prospect considering that was not entirely very far from the truth with her far reaching spy network. Autumn sat on the edge of her bed, the plush mattress giving beneath her so that she dipped down an inch farther than she expected, her balance disappearing in a moment of terror as her body interpreted the sinking as freefall. She threw out her hands, placing them atop the silk blankets to brace herself, mentally rolling her eyes at herself for her silliness and her nerves. Cullen reached over and cupped her face, smiling down at her in an expression that didn’t quite drive the worry out of his eyes. His thumb brushed little strokes across her cheekbone and she leaned into the touch, wishing that she knew the words that could ease the tension she knew was wrapped around his heart.

  
“Promise me you won’t do anything reckless.” He murmured.

  
“Me? Reckless? You must have me confused with one of your other wives.” She laughed, the sound a little too forced to be comfortable as it passed by her lips.

  
He pursed his lips and gave her a reproachful look. “I mean it. I want you to succeed, but I want you to come _back_ far more.”

  
She lifted her hand and placed it over the one he still held to her face, slipping her fingers in between his own. “I promise to do my best.” She said.

  
It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it seemed to be enough for him. He leaned down and tilted her face up, planting a gentle kiss on her lips. He tasted of the potion Vivienne had been giving him, the sweet overtone of honey not quite masking the spicy aftertaste of embrium. She took a moment to savor the contact, memorizing his lips, like she used to before she left Skyhold on Inquisition business. In their line of work they didn’t have the luxury to assume she would see him again, so every kiss could be the last, and she intended to make each one worthy of that possibility. He released her far too soon, stepping back and glancing around at the others. His eyes fell on Lilly, resting in the bed across from her, and he took a step towards her.

  
“I’m fairly certain Anders would want you to be careful.” He said with a wry grin.

  
“I’m fairly certain he doesn’t get to tell me what to do.” She replied haughtily, her tone full of all the bitter resentment she tried so hard to keep from boiling over. She hadn’t been down to see Anders since her first trip, and while she wouldn’t talk about it much with anyone, they could all guess that he had sent her away against her will. Cullen had tried to talk him into seeing her again, especially since Justice was being subdued, but Anders had refused, saying it would only make things worse in the long run. He was stubborn in his belief that he deserved what was happening to him, and his own tendencies for self-sacrifice kept him from seeing what pushing her away was actually doing to her.

  
Cullen sighed and shook his head. “Keep them safe.” He said to the rest of the group, who all acknowledged him wordlessly as they climbed into their beds.

  
Dorian clapped his hands together, his gaze sweeping over them with an air of eagerness. “Well then, shall we get started?” he asked.

  
Cullen moved to the door, placing his hand on the frame and turning for one last look. They shared one final gaze, a small list of endless promises passing between them. She was used to this exchange, the parting glance before she threw herself into danger, a simple spark between them as they both knew it _could_ be the last time they saw each other, although neither was willing to admit it openly. In this look they made promises they didn’t have the bravery to say out loud, promises to return, promises to live, promises to be together forever no matter what happened. They were things no one could ever guarantee, but their souls made the vows anyways, her eyes conveying things that weren’t possible as she idly toyed with the ring on her finger.

  
Then Cullen was gone, passing out of the door to return to his duties, far away from the spells and the lyrium that would put him in danger. She looked at her companions, the determination on their faces giving her the courage that she sometimes lacked when she had to leave her love behind. Technically she wasn’t leaving, she knew, but her mind would be, and who knew how long they would be asleep while they traveled the strange roads of the fade looking for Solas. Time moved differently in the two places, and what could be minutes for them could be days for everyone else. She swallowed, the moisture in her mouth seeming to disappear until her tongue felt like a useless bag of grit, heavy and rough against the back of her teeth.

  
“Right, so, let’s go over this again, shall we? I’ll put you under, and from out here I can maintain your health for as long as two weeks, although hopefully it won’t take you that long. I cannot wake you, so that will be up to you, and if you are killed in the fade your heart will likely stop out here as well.” Dorian warned, for possibly the millionth time.

  
“ _We know_.” Bull groused.

  
Dorian rounded on him, pinning him with a seething glare. “And I’m holding _you_ personally responsible if anything happens to Cole.”

  
“Yes _dear_.” Bull rolled his eyes expressively while Lilly snickered quietly to herself.

  
“Alright, your potions are next to the beds. Bottoms up, and I’ll see you all when you return.” Dorian smiled and downed his own bottle of lyrium, bringing up his hands to cast the accompanying spell. The others followed suit, the staccato popping sounds of the corks being removed filling the room. Autumn pulled out her own, a faint trail of white mist floating over the lip of the bottle as soon as the cork was gone. She pressed the cool glass to her lips, tilting it until the contents poured into her mouth, the thick fluid coating her tongue as it sloshed to the back of her throat. She nearly gagged on the flavor, a complex mix of herbs that tasted of black licorice and something earthy, a slight hint of something spicy followed by the acrid aftertaste of lyrium. She swallowed rapidly trying to clear it form her mouth, and as she did she felt the skin start to numb, her tongue losing all sensation of anything around it so that it felt strangely like it was floating, adrift in a space that had opened up somewhere below her eyes. She blinked, feeling her lids growing heavy while her vision blurred. She sank onto the pillows behind her head, the world spinning ever so slowly in front of her. There was something that looked a lot like a bright green flash, although she couldn’t be sure through the blue haze clouding her eyes, and then the world sped away like it was being dragged away from her on the back of a wagon.

 

***

 

The cold pinpricks of snowflakes falling on her cheeks was the first sensation that returned to her. She opened her eyes to stare at the billowing grey clouds hovering high above them, the cold of the snow around her suddenly seeping through her armor. She sat up, the curls in her hair dusted with icy white powder that trailed all along her back from where she had laid on the ground. The hillside around her was littered with trees, tall evergreens reaching up to the sky and catching the fluttering flakes that fell from it, boughs heavy with drifts sagging slightly under the weight as a gentle wind wound its way through them. She glanced around, relieved to see the rest of the party seated on the ground next to her, everyone present and accounted for.

  
Cassandra stood, dusting the snow from herself before reaching down to lend a hand to Varric, pulling him up so he could do the same. Autumn moved to lift herself off the ground, the backs of her thighs already numbed from the low temperatures. She shivered, wishing she had thought to dream up a warmer jacket. Was that how this worked? Could she dream it up now? She rubbed her arms vigorously, and when no jacket magically appeared she decided it was no use worrying about it.

  
“Where are we?” Lilly asked, shaking her hair to dislodge all of the snow.

Autumn looked around, trying to see through the trees to determine where they were. “Does it have to be somewhere? I mean, might it just be endless snowy hillside?”

“We really should have found a mage.” Varric drawled.

“Haven.” Cole said quietly, his hand on the trunk of a massive tree as he stared away from them, his eyes gazing over whatever was beyond the crest of the hill they stood on. Autumn moved, pressing her feet through the snow anxiously until she stood beside him, looking down at what he saw.

Sure enough, the little town of Haven sat nestled in the snowy fields just below them, the houses and buildings all intact, the rows of tents their soldiers had camped in still erect. Nothing moved in the town, no smoke winding from the chimneys, no nugs frolicking playfully on the edges of the pathways. It was a silent graveyard, devoid of any life, and Autumn shivered at the overwhelming sense of déjà vu the sight brought.

“This is where we came last time.” She murmured, talking more to herself than anything else.

“So, what, he’s just hanging around Haven in his dreams? That’s not creepy at all.” Varric muttered. She shot him a reproachful glance, hoping his comment wouldn’t drive him away, if Solas was in fact down there somewhere.

“So this was Haven?” Lilly asked her as she made her way to the top of the hill. “Wow, this is a lot smaller than I thought it would be.”

“There were more people there than you would think.” Autumn told her, somewhat sharper than she meant to. Looking out at the quiet town after it had been so long since she had last seen it made a small ache in her chest seem more acute, like her heart was splitting down the middle slowly, each beat of her pulse steadily tearing her in two. Lilly looked at her, but refrained from saying anything else.

The conversation died out completely after that as they all made their way down the hillside towards the noiseless town. Everything around them seemed oddly pristine to her, snowbanks lacking any footprints, a sky unmarked by the passage of birds, a deep hush pressed down around everything, like all of the air was being filtered through a thick sheet of cotton around her ears. The sounds they made as they moved seemed both too loud and muffled all at the same time, disrupting the quiet of the still air even as the sounds were absorbed into the thick white cover around them. She wanted to wince with every step, the frozen crystals crunching under her leather boots reverberating loudly through her head. It made her nervous, seeing everything so _dead_. Last time she was here, with Solas, it had seemed quaint, as though it was a small picture of the place she had once called home. Maybe it had been because the trauma of Haven’s destruction had still been fresh, or maybe it was because Solas had been with her. Now it just seemed eerie.

She placed her palms on the closed gates, the grain of the wood rough against her skin. She pushed them forward, grunting slightly as they dragged along the ground in their swing. Bull pulled up beside her and assisted, the both of them heaving them all the way open in a few seconds. Inside the buildings stood just as she remembered them, quiet sentinels in the strange snowy afternoon. At least, she would guess it was afternoon by the way the sun seemed to filter through the clouds. Autumn wasn’t sure just how much the time of day mattered in the fade anyways.

  
“So, do we just start yelling for him or something?” Bull asked, looking at her expectantly.

  
She shrugged. “Beats me. Last time I found him _before_ we came to Haven, not after.” Her words seemed to echo across the still pathways.

  
“Hey!” Lilly called, her hands cupped around her mouth so that the shout carried everywhere, seemingly racing all the way to the tips of the mountains at the edges of the village. “Solas! Yoohoo!” she paused, her eyes darting around the area as though expecting him to come marching out of one of the buildings. “It’s rude to keep guests waiting!” she added.

  
“And you thought _she_ should be Inquisitor.” Varric mumbled to Cassandra, who snorted out a laugh before she caught herself. She cleared her throat and affected a scowl, but Varric was already smiling smugly at the reaction. He brought his hands up around his mouth, mimicking Lilly’s technique. “Hey Chuckles, you out there?”

  
“He isn’t here.” Cole said, his foot kicking at one of the stones in the cobbled steps.

  
“Well shit.” Autumn said, her breath making a small cloud in front of her face. “So how do we leave to go find him then?”

  
“Doors. We pick a door and go through it.” Varric waved at the cottages with closed doors all around them.

  
“ _Which_ door?” Cassandra asked.

  
“That’s the fun part. Won’t know until we go through. You kind of just have to keep going through them until you get where you want.” he replied.

  
Lilly sighed in irritation. “Well, I guess we should –“

Her words were cut off as the building directly behind her exploded, great gouts of flame shooting up off the rooftop. Lilly and Cassandra, who were standing closest to the structure, were thrown forward while the rest of them ducked to the ground, searing heat making the air around them shimmer as smoke started billowing around them.

“Something’s coming!” Cole shouted, drawing his daggers and standing. Autumn quickly followed suit, her hands shaking slightly in the aftermath of the shock. When she looked up again she realized all of the buildings were engulfed in flames, the sky above tarnished with inky black smoke so thick that the sun no longer shone through the clouds. No, that wasn’t it…the time of day had changed, the grey of snowy daylight being replaced with the infinite darkness of the night sky, filling with ash like it had the night they had returned from sealing the breach.

The animalistic snarling that drifted over the roaring of the fires drew her attention and she spun, her gaze falling on countless red Templar swarming around the corner like a horde of angry ants, swords raised and mouths opened wide as they screamed an unnatural battle cry. The world was bathed in red from the glowing inferno and the flickering shards of red lyrium embedded in their flesh. She heard Lilly start swearing from somewhere to her left, but she had no time to check on the others as the enemy fell upon her, steel swinging in wild arcs that forced her to jump to get out of the way. She spun again, throwing her weight into the movement as she brought up her daggers, feeling the blades crash against the creatures, sometimes sinking into flesh and other times clanging roughly against armor. When her feet hit the ground again she rolled to the side, underneath a group of them and away from immediate danger.

The sound of battle was like an orchestra of chaos, the steady beat of buildings collapsing to fire in the background providing a frantic tempo that sent her heart racing. She let her feet find the rhythm, flowing with it as though she were made of the flame, her blood pounding in her veins and guiding her blades. She drove a dagger into a chest, snapping through the armor like it was little more than brittle clay, swinging her other arm to slice at the limb of another beast, its wretched cries lost to her as she yanked her weapon out of the first. She attacked again, driving sharpened points into an unguarded stomach before yanking them back just as quickly to strike at a creature trying to get behind her. She lost count of how many attacks she made, losing herself to the flow rather than each individual hit. She was a rolling wave of war, rushing over her foes like water breaking over the shore, forever surging forward no matter how many times she was thrown back.

  
The ground was littered with bodies by the time she looked up, wiping the sweat off her brow and gulping in air, her starved lungs raw and aching as she took in ash with every breath. Her vision swam, the bright fires around her blurring with the dark shadows of the night so the world looked like an orange and black smear spread out in front of her. She was dizzy, she realized, her feet suddenly unsteady on the ground below them. She took a step forward, staggering slightly, and she would have fallen were it not for the strong arms wrapping around her to hold her up.

“There’s too many of them!” Cassandra cried next to her ear. “We can’t get to any of the doors, they’re everywhere and blocking our paths.” She added in a lower voice, so that only Autumn could hear her.

“We need to get to the hills, we can figure out a plan when we get there.” She ground out. She stood up straight, swatting aside Cassandra’s hovering hands. “Retreat to the mountainside!” she called out, and then they were all running, her feet slipping in melted snow and blood as they propelled her forward.

They ran back out of the gates, the heat of the fires hot on their heels. The entire village was up in flames; buildings, fences, tents, absolutely everything was swallowed in the vicious inferno painting the sky a dangerous red. Lilly was coughing violently as she ran and Bull was forced to stop and pick her up, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of root vegetables. She continued her coughing over his back, which was likely the only reason she didn’t loudly protest. They made it to the tree line before Autumn finally turned back to see if they were being pursued. The red Templar seemed to have remained within the gates, and she scanned the thick smoke to ensure none of them were lurking in the murky shadows, unseen in their approach.

  
She had only a second to scream when she saw the red eyes, great rotten wings churning the air as it swooped down on them and blasted the ground around them with sizzling red energy. She was thrown up into the air, sailing several feet before her back slammed into a tree trunk, knocking the poisoned air out of her lungs and leaving her gasping painfully. The dragon screamed defiantly at the sky, heaving itself back upwards to circle around them like a massive vulture.

  
She didn’t even hear his footsteps. It was as though she blinked and he was standing above her, the same red lyrium distorted visage that had urged on the forces of the Venatori for so long before he had fallen. Corypheus didn’t look as dead as she remembered.

  
“Ah, silly little girl.”


	21. A Good Man's Last Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we feel helpless in the fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10,000 points to Eisen for questioning things. :D

She clenched her hands into fists, her empty palms filling with snow, her daggers tossed somewhere to the side when the dragon had attacked.

  
“Corypheus. You look good for a dead darkspawn.” She quipped.

  
He chuckled, a deep rumble stretching out from the maw of darkness. “Does that frighten you, little girl? The idea that I survived your pitiful attempts to vanquish me?” he leaned down, looming over her with a smug grin stretched across his twisted face. “Tell me, how much does it make your silly little heart beat? How much do you want to scream?” his eyes narrowed at her, waiting for her answer.

  
She would have laughed, the idea that he frightened her like some kind of great cosmic joke. She had defeated him once before and she could certainly do it again, in this world or the next. She would have told him as much, as well, were it not for the fact that Cole had launched himself bodily at the magister, his blades cutting across one another in a slash that made them whistle when they cut through the air, missing their target as he flickered out of sight, disappearing momentarily before materializing several feet away. Cole looked down at her, his whole body shaking like a blade of grass torn by the wind. There was fear swimming in his eyes, wide and pale blue like the wings of a moth catching the bright moonlight.

  
“It isn’t him.” He told her.

  
Autumn scrambled to her feet as the image of Corypheus flickered again, the body morphing as he screamed in anger. The red lyrium in his flesh dissolved like a sandcastle during high tide, the skin bubbling and shifting until its head was crowned with a ring of writhing tentacles, snaking into the air as it hissed its displeasure at being discovered.

  
“Compassion. I should have known I couldn’t fool you.” The Nightmare demon said, its voice a whistling whine that escaped through the horrifying mandibles around its mouth. It turned its head back to her, a row of beady black eyes regarding her coldly. “So, Inquisitor. I am curious, did you not learn your lesson from our last encounter? Are you such a glutton for punishment that you wish to bring me _more_ sacrificial offerings? They smell as sweet and prime for slaughter as your friend Stroud was. Would you like to know how much he screamed before he died?” the Nightmare disappeared momentarily, reappearing in front of her again and sending Cole flying backwards. He inched his face downward until it was right in front of hers, his breath a fetid wave of decay invading her nostrils. “You are a silly, foolish little girl. You came into _my_ realm, and had the gall to foil _my_ plans. Do you know how _long_ I have watched you from afar, unable to exact my revenge? I have torn away your castles wards to invade your very dreams, yet still you kept me away with your cursed mark. It seems my patience has been rewarded, as you were simpleminded enough to stumble back into my dominion, bleating like a lost lamb and _ripe_ for the taking.”

  
Someone was calling her name, but everything seemed farther away than it had before. She found herself unable to look away from the demon’s row of dark eyes, little points of light dancing in their depths as it stared her down.

  
“It seems you have forgotten what it is to truly be afraid, little girl. Allow me to _remind_ you.” He snarled, and then the mountainside around her dissolved and she found herself somewhere altogether different.

 

***

 

Cassandra forced open her eyes. It felt as though she had only closed them for a second, a fraction of a second, but in that time the world had shifted. No longer was she on the snowy mountainside, reliving the horror of the Inquisition she had helped form burn to the ground. Now she found herself in a bed, a simple wooden frame topped with a firm mattress not unlike the one she slept in at home. She looked around, blinking in astonishment at the familiar four walls of her room. Her trunk at the edge of the bed still lay open, just as she had last left it, the stack of books reaching up over the rim, bookmarks stuffed into different parts of each one. The surface of her desk still had the neatly stacked pages of her recent stories, the quill resting in its holder next to the pot of ink, not a single letter out of place. She threw off her blankets, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. Her nightshift clung to her, the fabric bunched and tussled from her tossing and turning. She brought her hands up to cradle her head, a slight pounding forming between her temples that felt like the echo of something important she could no longer recall. What had she been doing? She felt as though there was something important about today, but the significance slipped her mind like fog moving away from the sunlight.

  
It must be the remembrance of some nightmare. Everything around her seemed in its proper place, so the cause of her unease was likely not worth focusing on, some intangible thing summoned in her sleep that had no place in the waking world. She rose, moving to the basin in the corner to wash her face in the frigid water. It was bracing, the cold removing most of the lingering disquiet. She used the small towel she kept next to the tub to dry off, running it through her hair before tossing it back on the rack. She dressed efficiently, taking off her shift and folding it before donning her thick leather armor. It was good, all of it normal, everything perfectly familiar right down to the smell of the leather and the feel of the metal buckles under her fingertips. And yet…

  
She shook her head, feeling like some silly child for having such unfounded anxieties. It would not do to have her thoughts scattered in this way. She had things to do. She would need to train, as she did every day, and if she recalled correctly she had a meeting with Cullen over the possibility of assisting more of the Templar in ceasing their lyrium use, as there were several who had expressed an interest. She would need to continue reviewing the applicants that wanted to become Seekers as well, and continue formulating her plans to re-create the order. There was a growing stack of Inquisition soldiers that had requested they be considered as candidates, and she would need to start coming up with a way to sort through them and choose whom to train.

  
She paused after lacing up her boots, staring at the door as she tried to remember what else she had to do today. She was sure she was forgetting something. Perhaps that was why she felt so unusual. Maybe it was time to accept Autumn’s offer of assigning her a personal assistant. She hated the idea of wasting resources on something so frivolous, but if she could no longer remember everything she had to do every day then it would become necessary. These matters were too important to shirk or treat in a careless manner.

  
She stood and opened the door to her room. For a moment she stood there, looking around at the hallway outside. Everything looked as it always did, not a single beam of wood out of place, but she could have sworn the air had shifted oddly, like a breeze had moved across her face and abruptly halted. She narrowed her eyes, her hand gripping the metal of the handle, glaring at the flickering firelight coming from the forges below. The blacksmiths seemed to be awake already, stoking the fires for another day’s work, meaning she must have slept longer than she usually did. She quickly closed the door and moved down the stairs, brushing aside the worry of whatever phantom breeze she thought she had felt. If she didn’t get out to the practice yard soon she would not get her training in before breakfast started, and if she were late to breakfast she would no doubt have to answer an endless barrage of questions from Varric about her tardiness, who would seize any opportunity to annoy her.

  
She grabbed her favorite dulled sword and shield from the equipment on the wall and opened the door out to the courtyard. She made it about three steps towards the training dummies before a shrill scream interrupted her routine, the call carrying across the yard and disrupting the early morning quiet. She spun around, realizing belatedly that the world was bathed in a sickly green light, rippling surges of mana distorting the air around her. Her eyes turned upward, the sky above her ripped open as the fade bled into the world once more, another breach directly above Skyhold like a great unblinking eye glaring down at the unprepared keep. The people inside the hold were screaming in earnest now, running for cover as the boiling green clouds started spewing fireballs down on them, impacting with bright explosions and leaving groups of demons in their wake. She spotted the inner circle off to the side, conferring with one another as the situation unfolded. She could see the panic in their eyes from where she stood.

  
Throwing her practice weapons on the ground she raced back into the armory, grabbing the nearest sharpened blade she could find. She was back outside in a heartbeat, running towards the group where they stood immersed in the gruesome emerald light.

  
“Do we know how it opened again?” Cullen was asking the gathered crowd, the scowl on his face emphasizing the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked half dead where he stood, and she couldn’t tell if it was the horrible lighting or not, but his skin looked jaundiced, his eyes filled with red irritation like he hadn’t slept in weeks. None of them looked well, now that she was closer, each person appearing like they had been overtaken by some illness that had left her untouched. Was it the proximity to the new breach?

  
“You wanna ask the demons, Curly? I bet they’ll answer if you ask nicely.” Varric drawled.

  
“This is hardly the time for jokes.” She told him, frowning down at his candid posture. He glanced over, but his eyes seem to pass through her, and instead of looking at her and smirking, like he usually would, his gaze simply moved on as though he hadn’t heard the reproach. “What is our plan of attack?” she asked Cullen, brushing off Varric’s dismissal and trying to ignore the surge of hurt that welled up in her chest.

  
Cullen didn’t seem to hear her, either, looking up at the sky balefully. She was getting ready to pose the question again before someone near them screamed, and they saw the horde of demons swarming straight towards them. One of the workers from the kitchen fell in their path, gored to death on one of the long clawed talons of a terror demon. Cullen unsheathed his sword, sharing a glance with Autumn before he took off towards the throng of evil bearing down on them. There was no more time to talk after that, as they all leaped into battle.

  
She was quickly surrounded by shades, their leathery claws swiping at her from almost every direction. She fought brutishly, ducking beneath the heavy onslaught of attacks to land weighty hits of her own. It was only a few moments before her heart was pounding, her body aching as she strained to stay ahead in the deadly dance. She had hammered several of them with blows that should have been fatal, but somehow the wicked creatures remained standing, healthy enough to continue fighting. Her arm was burning, shaking as her sword grew steadily heavier and heavier in her grip. Her palms were slick with sweat, and when one of the demons landed a blow on the back of her shoulder she lost control of the blade altogether, the weapon flying out of her grasp to land uselessly on the ground several feet away. She ducked and rolled, pushing herself out of danger in the only direction she could, which happened to be the direction away from her weapon.

  
When she looked up again she realized she was right next to Varric, who was firing bolts into the oncoming crowd as quickly as he could. Several of them exploded, reducing the creatures to sizzling piles of ash and goo, but more moved in to take their place almost as quickly as they fell. They were going to be overrun in minutes.

  
“Varric, go, run! Get to high ground, get the archers on the battlements!” she told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He turned to her, his eyes staring through her once again. He shrugged off her hand, turning back to the demons and firing as if she had not spoken. “Varric?”

  
Without warning a despair demon materialized in front of him, launching a line of long spikes of ice from its arms, all of them sinking into Varric’s chest and stomach. He let out a horrible gurgling sound, sinking to his knees limply as the muscles in his legs gave out. His crossbow fell out of his hands, hitting the ground roughly with a heavy wooden thump as it bounced away. Varric swayed for half a second before toppling backwards, his legs splayed awkwardly underneath him. The ice spikes shifted, falling out of the wounds as he hit the ground. He coughed, blood splattering out of his mouth to coat his chin and lips, staining them with gore in a way that seemed to violate everything he stood for, painting tragedy where there should only be humor and joy.

  
She didn’t quite register that she was screaming until she felt the muscles in her throat burn, already raw from the force of her cries. She knelt down, pressing her hands to his wounds as the world dissolved into blaring chaos around them. She needed to apply pressure, to keep him from bleeding out until she could get him to a healer, but no matter how tightly she held him blood kept welling up between her fingers, coating her hands and his chest. Her palms slipped across the surface of his armor, unable to find any purchase as she wiped helplessly at the wet leather and clothe. He was awash in red, the thick liquid flowing from him like an endless stream, glistening in the horrid light of the breach. He looked up at her, as if seeing her for the first time, his sunny hazel eyes already beginning to lose their focus, shining too brightly as though he were overcome with fever.

  
“You’re too late.” He rasped, and he didn’t draw in another breath after the words left his lips, his eyes dimming until the spark of life behind them was completely snuffed out.

  
She recoiled, drawing her hands back, staring at the blood – _his_ _blood_ – that coated almost everything. She glanced around, looking over the battlefield in a daze. The bodies of her friends, of the people she had slowly grown to think of as family, lay scattered around her, no more life in them than the smaller form before her. Everyone was dead, everything was ruined, and she had been completely helpless to stop it. Nothing they had done, nothing _she_ had done, had mattered in the end. She could feel the burning tears pouring down her cheeks, her hands resting in her lap, gloved in the crimson tattoo of a good man’s last moments. The world was ending, and after everything she had gone through, everything she had done, everyone she had gathered and trained and done her best to support, none of that was enough. In the end she was still just the helpless little girl her uncle had always wanted her to be, and the realization shattered her as though she really was the porcelain doll he had kept locked away in Nevarra.

  
She was almost relieved when a demon knocked her across the side of her head, sending her flying onto her back and ending her torturous awareness.

 

***

 

Cassandra forced open her eyes. It felt as though she had only closed them for a second, a fraction of a second, but in that time the world had shifted. Her heart pounded as though something terrible had just happened to her, something dark and foreboding lurking in the depths of her consciousness, a part of her mind screaming with a memory should could not quite place. She looked around, blinking in astonishment at the familiar four walls of her room. Had she been dreaming? Was this unspeakable terror within her just the remnant of a nightmare? What had she been doing? She felt as though there was something important about today, but the significance eluded her.

  
She shook her head and got out of bed. She had too many things to do today to waste time on nameless fears that followed her in the night. She dressed herself quietly, but no matter how sternly she tried to tell herself there was nothing to worry about, she couldn’t help but feel like she had done all of this before, and that when she had it had ended in horrible pain


	22. Something About This Felt Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we experience madness and unworthiness.

His head felt heavy, like his horns weighed more than the world, hanging on him like solid rock outcroppings, burdening his thoughts as much as his skull. He opened his eyes, blinking to clear the stinging blur he felt there, vaguely wondering how much he’d been drinking to make him feel so terrible. Something in his mind told him this wasn’t right, that the temperature against his skin was wrong, that the air itself had shifted in some unknown way to make the scene entirely _incorrect_ , but he couldn’t put words to what it was that bothered him about it.

  
Bull tried to bring a hand up to rub his eyes but found it trapped, bound in the confines of a thick cloth, heaven and woolen and itching against his skin. He was in some sort of wrap, arms pulled through sleeves that crossed in front of his chest, iron chains attached to the cuffs and wound around his back. He moved experimentally, trying to free himself, but tugging at one end only yanked the other forward, sending pain shooting through his shoulders. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering of his pulse while his blood rushed through his veins, roaring in his ears like a waterfall.

  
He took stock of his surroundings. He was in a cell, small and damp. Four walls, one door, no windows. The door was a mesh of metal bars, most likely reinforced obsidian if the color was any indication. He was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against a cold wall, his legs flat against the ground underneath him. There were cuffs around his ankles and more of the thick metal chains attached to them, binding him to the floor so that even if he could stand without taking off the jacket he would be unable to walk forward. There was a crack in the wall to the left of him, a thin trail of water dripping steadily through, with a small burst of bright green algae growing around the edges. There was no light, save for the faint movement of fire outside his room, likely from torches placed somewhere in the hallway.

  
He tried to think, to remember how he got here. There was a cloud in his thoughts, a thick cotton gauze covering everything in his mind, and when he tried to reach through to find answers it was like walking through sticky web, catching at him and holding him so he couldn’t move. He had no memory of what he was doing before, no memory of how this had come to pass. He took another deep breath, closing his eyes this time and focusing on the way it felt to fill his lungs. He needed to remain calm, to remain steady if he was going to figure any of this out.

  
Voices drifted towards him from outside the cell, along with the steady rhythm of a pair of footsteps. He opened his eyes, watching the door anxiously as the figures approached. He felt his hopes rise when he recognized the voices, Dorian’s familiar affected speech patterns something he would know anywhere at this point. His heartrate increased again, but this time it was from joy, a feeling of relief sweeping through him. If Dorian was here the situation could not be as bad as it seemed, and certainly he would work to help get him out of this strange prison.

  
When his mage came into view he was followed by Autumn, trailing behind him and speaking in low, hushed tones. They had somber expressions on their faces, and he felt a pang of regret that he didn’t understand why. It was unusual that Bull didn’t know what was going on, even more unusual that he couldn’t openly read the feelings of those he loved. He tried to squash the sense of panic as it reared up inside him again.

  
He failed miserably at this when he noticed the dark, shadowy figure lurking behind each of them, red eyes glowing from within a form that seemed to swallow the light around it. He looked at it, gaping in horror as it stared back at him, and a long, toothy mouth spread into a wicked grin from just below the eyes.

  
He opened his mouth to warn them, but the words that fell from the tip of his tongue didn’t make any sense, garbled and backwards. “Ybin dhelt ook, uo!”

  
His dear friends, his family, looked at him sadly. Dorian placed his hands on the bars, plastering a smile on his face that was so insincere it felt like a knife in Bull’s gut. “Hello Bull. How are you today?” his voice shook, a faint tremor underneath the falsely calm tone.

  
He intended to ask about what was going on, but when he opened his mouth the words that tumbled out seemed to twist around themselves. “G’nip paw haen? Rehts mai hew?” his voice had a panicked edge to it and he shuddered involuntarily.

  
Autumn’s lower lip trembled, the tears in her eyes shimmering as she blinked them away. She smiled at him, the same forced expression Dorian was using. “Hello Bull.” She said. The shadowy sprite behind her reached out a long, snaking arm and wrapped it around her throat. Its evil grin broadened as dark tendrils spread along her fair skin. She didn’t seem to feel it, oblivious to the danger she was in.

  
“Girn! Soig k’lun yoil tu ot!” he cried.

  
“They’ll never understand you.” Purred a deep voice from directly to his left. Bull turned his head, taking in the tall figure standing next to him that most certainly hadn’t been there before. He was massive, a dark green Qunari that put off a sickly glow as he leaned leisurely against the wall, cleaning his fingernails and giving Bull a patiently disaffected look. Dorian and Autumn didn’t seem to see him, their faces remaining careful masks of polite interest, as though looking at a sick child and trying not to worry him over what they saw.

  
Dorian sniffed loudly, turning his back on the cell and wiping quickly at his eyes. Autumn glanced at him, a myriad of aching emotions swirling behind her kind evergreen gaze. She looked back to Bull, prudently reconstructing her smile. “We’ll come to see you again tomorrow, okay Bull?” She wrapped her arm around Dorian and they walked away, Dorian’s muffled sobs echoing against the stonework to cut straight through Bull’s heart. The shadowy creature laughed, a subtle hissing sound, wrapping its dark limbs around Dorian now, mussing the back of his hair like Bull had done a thousand times before with his own fingers.

  
He turned to the demon, who was now strutting slowly along the length of the wall, a sneering grin adorning his lips. “Sad, isn’t it? Poor man adores you so, even after your slow descent into madness. It was such a shame when all that violence in your life finally broke you.”

  
“Who are you?” Bull asked, somewhat surprised when the words came out crystal clear.

  
The demon chuckled richly. “I _am_ you. Well, I’m in your head, at least. I rather like it in here, in fact. So _roomy_.”

  
Bull growled low in his throat. “Demon. What have you done to me? What are you doing to them?”

“I’m having _fun_.” He replied, kneeling down so that his face was level with Bull’s. “Don’t you think it’s _funny_? Isn’t it hilarious how all those pretty little words sound when I mix them all together?” he giggled, a giddy sound that bubbled around the room.

  
Bull lunged towards him, dipping his head so that his horns pointed at the vile creature. He toppled over, falling helplessly onto the floor where the demon had just been crouching. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling until the leering green face popped into his view again.

  
“You can’t attack your own head, dummy. Not like you attacked all those little mercenaries.” His grin had a sharp edge to it, a spark deep in his eyes that spoke of something Bull didn’t want to remember, something locked away that he didn’t want to question, would be happier if it remained securely buried in the depths of the unknown.

  
“What do you mean?” he asked, even though he knew whatever the demon said would destroy him as surely as if he were being ripped asunder.

  
The demon tutted at him, shaking his head. “Ah, does the memory elude you? Shame, I was rather fond of that one. That little motley crew…what did you call them? The _Chargers_? They’d been so surprised when you turned on them. You fought so hard as I made you smash them to bits. It was delightful!”

  
Bull’s chest heaved up and down as his breathing soared to a rapid pace, no amount of air passing through his lungs enough to dispel the horrible surge of sickness rolling through him. It was lies, it had to be, there was no way, no universe in which he could ever be made to do what that thing said. He had no memories of the event, but a dark voice from deep within him spread a thin layer of unease over everything. _Something_ wasn’t right, something about this situation was digging into his nerves like a thousand sharp little axes burrowing through his skin.

  
“Oh, you’re probably wondering if I’m telling the truth, aren’t you? Wondering if all this is _really_ real? Memory is such a tricky thing. You feel _something_ there, in the pit of your stomach, don’t you?” the demon leaned down, his mouth right next to Bull’s ear. He should have felt the breath on his face, should have been able to feel the warmth from the thing’s skin, but instead there was only the absence of anything, like directly next to him the world had simply ceased to exist. “You can feel all that awful balled up inside you, and you’re wondering if it could be true. Maybe you really _were_ the savage beast you always feared. Maybe you always had it in you to kill everyone around you, and it was only a matter of time. After all, you can’t remember. Who’s to say you didn’t rip poor little Krem’s head off with your bare, brutish hands?”

  
“No! I could never!” Bull screamed, feeling the force of his cry strain at the edges of his face.

  
“Ah, but couldn’t you?” the demon stood, looking down at him with feigned sympathy. “You turned on the Qun, after all. Perhaps being a traitor is just built right into you. Maybe that was why it was so easy for me to just…slip right in and help things along.”

“Fuck you.”

The thing laughed, tossing back his head and holding his stomach like this was the funniest thing it had ever heard. “Oh, you are a riot. Never a dull moment.”

Bull turned away from him, facing the door to the cell again. Or at least he did as much as he could with his horns resting on the floor. The chains connected to his sleeves dug painfully into his back and he tried to focus on it, tried to let the physical sensations crowd out the swirling despair circling in his head. The tears at the corner of his eyes pooled there, held in the little divots and scars around his face until it became too much and they fell, trailing little pathways across his skin on their way to the floor.

“Tell me, _The_  Iron Bull, was killing your precious team your worst nightmare?” the thing walked slowly around him until he was next to the cell door, placing his back against the wall and crossing his feet at the ankles. Bull stared at him silently, refusing to dignify the taunting with an answer. The reaction only seemed to please him further, however. “Ah, not feeling chatty anymore? No matter, I think I can answer for you. Certainly killing the little miscreants had taken its toll on your mind, but I think we can do better, don’t you?”

  
Footsteps echoed from down the hall again, stuttering footfalls that shuffled towards the door. A steady scraping sound followed them, a constant noise incessantly present underneath the uneven booted cadence. Bull blinked away some of his tears so that his eyes would focus, staring intently at the door to await whatever it was the demon intended. He held his breath, wishing in part that he could turn away but knowing he would not be spared from whatever was to come, even if he had the freedom to move away from the sight.

  
Cole’s body was tossed onto the floor in front of the cell, unceremoniously dumped like a bag of discarded rags so that his long limbs were skewed in different directions. His eyes, those innocent lightning colored beauties that had held so much wonder, so much joy, now stared sightlessly at Bull, glassy and stilled in death. His mouth was hanging open in an infinite expression of shock and terror, wordlessly condemning the world that had taken something so pure, so innocent, and dragged it through despair until there was nothing left. The wide red smile carved into his throat ensured he would never again laugh at one of Varric’s jokes, would never again ask Dorian another string of questions, never again echo the tavern songs so quietly that only Bull could hear him sing.

  
Dorian shuffled slowly into view. It could have been seconds or years later, Bull would never be sure. He was frozen in time, cradled in the same horrible moment that spanned out in front of him, banished inside unblinking blue eyes that he would never see shine with happiness again. Cole’s blood dripped from the blade in Dorian’s hand, more of it smeared down the front of his silk robes. The shadow creature was wrapped around the mage, long coiling arms clutching across his chest, embracing his neck, snaking down his arms to hold the hilt of the dagger in his grip. Dorian stared sightlessly at Bull, wavering slightly on his feet as he was held there by the evil spirit, his jaw slack like it often was when he was sleeping peacefully in their bed.

  
“Onira, nod…” Bull murmured, his voice choked around the lump in his throat, his words throttled and distorted once again. The demon laughed uproariously, slapping his knee as he took in the scene.

  
“Oh, that was much better. You certainly never fail to disappoint.”

  
Bull started screaming, anguish and terror tearing out of his throat powerfully. He rocked back and forth, the chains dragging against the ground and grinding loudly in the small room, his body shaking with the effort to wipe everything he was seeing from his mind. This was not happening. This could not be happening. _This could not be possible_.

“Welcome to madness, The Iron Bull.” The demon whispered.

Bull shut his eyes and kept screaming, wishing the darkness behind his lids could erase what they had seen.

 

***

 

The wind slapped against his face, carrying little pieces of grit and dust to grind against his cheeks. Varric opened his eyes, regretting it almost immediately as the onslaught of cold air burned across his vision. He brought his hand up to shield himself as he slowly came back to awareness. He was lying in a sand dune, tinted blue from the night sky above him, the air around him dancing along the surface of the nearly endless dessert. He stood, dusting off his armor, and looked out at the wastes stretching out before him. The only thing marring the landscape was a massive chasm, a deep black pit that split the world in two, extending onward infinitely in either direction. He was standing near the edge, close enough to see the limitless blackness below, no sign of a bottom in the lightless depths.

  
Something about this felt wrong. Something _besides_  the fact he had just woken up in a desert alone with no recollection of how he got there. Something felt slightly off about the whole world, like the sand beneath his feet lacked some essential quality. It shifted like sand, felt gritty and uneven like sand, had the same finely grained appearance of sand, but something about it left him feeling like it was decidedly _not_ sand. He glanced across the canyon, squinting to get a good look at the far edge. A group of figures moved at a campsite, a warm fire flickering as they sat around it, the distant sounds of happy laughter drifting towards him. He recognized the great pair of horns that could only belong to Tiny, and he would recognize Hummingbird’s dark red curls anywhere. All his friends seemed to be gathered, likely telling each other tales over some horrible dinner one of them had tried to cook. He raised his hand, calling out a general hello, wondering how in Andraste’s name he was going to get across.

  
Bianca appeared next to him, so close he jumped back out of surprise, his heart skipping a beat because he could have sworn he was alone a second ago. “They can’t hear you.” She told him.

  
“What – Maker’s balls, Bianca, what are you doing here?” he asked, and immediately felt slightly stupid when he realized he didn’t even know what he was doing there.

“I’m part of your story.” She said, and shrugged, as though that made all the sense in the world. “Him too.” She inclined her head to the left, and Varric noticed the second figure for the first time. He nearly fell over when he realized he recognized the scruffy blonde hair and surly demeanor.

  
“Bartrand?” he asked.

“Some friends you made, brother. Leaving us out in the cold like this.” Bartrand grumbled, hunching his shoulders against the wind as another gust threw dust in their faces.

“What are you talking about? Where are we?” Varric spun around, as if looking at the scenery would make this situation make any more sense.

“We’re _abandoned_.” Bianca said, her pout nearly overtaking her entire face.

  
“They wouldn’t just leave us here without a good reason.” He retorted.

“Look around, Varric. Do you see any of your fancy friends on this side?” she spread her arms out, gesturing at the empty expanse around them.

He ignored her, turning and waving his hands in the air. “Hey! Hummingbird! Hawke! We could use a little help over here!” he crowed. The group across the chasm didn’t seem to be able to hear him. He turned to ask Bianca to shout as well, thinking both their voices together could be heard over the howling wind, and he was surprised when she was replaced with Cassandra’s lithe form, standing next to him with a look of disgust on her face. Bartrand seemed to have disappeared as well…or had he been there in the first place? His memory seemed to shift like the sand beneath his feet, trickling away slowly under the careful guiding push of the wind.

“Go back to Kirkwall, Varric.” Her lip curled upward, an expression like a sneer crossing her face.

“What…where did Bianca go?” he blinked at her.

“She left again. What did you expect? She doesn’t belong with you, just like you don’t belong with them.” She jerked her chin towards the group, still laughing happily amongst themselves.

“Come on, Seeker. Don’t be churlish, let’s just figure out a way to get across. You can yell at me when we get back.”

“You won’t be going back. Look at them, Varric. Do you really think they need you? Go back to your filthy bar in Kirkwall.” She snapped.

“Seeker…” he swallowed the thick lump stuck in his throat, willing the pain her words caused to stay firmly in the box within his mind labeled “things Cassandra didn’t really mean”.

“They don’t need you. _We_ don’t need you.” She angled her body away from him, looking up at the sky as though even the sight of him caused her discomfort.

  
“How can you say that? After all we’ve been through how can you just…just…tell me to _leave_?” he held out his hands, sputtering in frustration. Once upon a time, returning to Kirkwall was all he had thought about, but there were a lot of years and a heap of memories, both good and bad, between the person he was then and the person he was now. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere his friends weren’t, even if it did mean living in the middle of the Orlesian nowhere, stuck in the mountains while they all slowly froze their asses off.

  
“You were never really good enough to be in the Inquisition, Varric. We all knew it, we’ve all always known it. We’re done pretending we need you around.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

It hurt. He wanted to deny it, to reassure himself that this couldn’t be real, that his friends couldn’t possibly feel this way. The idea of any of them sending him away seemed ludicrous…and yet, deep down, hadn’t he always felt out of place? Hadn’t he always wondered if he was going to wear out his welcome? There was only so long that people would put up with a dwarf who told too many exaggerated stories. Maybe they really were sick of him. Maybe Cassandra had finally convinced them all he was just dead weight. He had thought they had moved past this, that his relationship with the tempestuous woman was finally improving, but maybe that was just his own wishful thinking. Maybe he really had been clinging to a bunch of connections that weren’t really there, fooling himself into thinking he was worthy of their friendship.

“You should leave, Varric. You’re nothing more than a burden, another person I have to keep alive when I should be focusing elsewhere. You should have left earlier, but you abused the kindness of those around you and stayed.” Her eyes were cold and hard as she looked down her nose at him. In all the time he had known Cassandra she had never actually looked _down_ at him, no matter how many times she argued with him, no matter how many times she cursed him or rolled her eyes, she had never treated him like he was _lower_ than her. Seeing it now made him feel smaller than he ever had before, like he was being crushed into the ground by her self-righteous boot heel.

“Cass…” his words turned to ash in his mouth, heavy and useless as his heart crumbled inside his chest. What could he possibly say? If everything they had been through hadn’t managed to convince her he was a good person, nothing would. And maybe she was right, maybe he was just a leech on other’s success, hanging onto the coat tails of other brave, wonderful people and pretending he belonged.

  
The ground seemed to fall away around him, the sand flowing over the edges as the rock beneath him separated, breaking away from everything. It didn’t shake, didn’t rumble, there was no quaking to signify the shift, but all at once he found himself marooned on an island in the middle of the chasm, alone and unreachable, adrift in the world just like he was adrift in his own head. It terrified him, to look out into the darkness and see everything he ever cared about slowly move away, until he was a thousand miles from anything that could bring him out of his torment. He called out, hearing his own stricken voice echo back to him as he trembled with the horrible loneliness and the dawning realization that maybe he had been alone all along. Varric had always been unworthy, but it seemed everyone else was finally able to see it.


	23. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are forgotten and at fault.

He opened his eyes and immediately knew he wasn’t supposed to be there. Cole sat up, the familiar press of the mattress against his back doing little to reassure him against the tide of unease over his displacement. He knew he hadn’t been dreaming when he had stood on the mountainside and faced the memory of the decaying dragon. He knew that this was something that the Nightmare had constructed, likely out of pieces of things from his own mind in an effort to trap him there. It had been a long time since he had been in the fade, but he still remembered how it worked. No matter how real it felt, it was all just an illusion.

  
He moved aside the quilt covering his legs, the conjuration a perfect replica of the tattered thing that kept him warm throughout the nights. He had found it when they had been in the Exalted Plains, buried under a pile of rubble in one of the shattered houses. He had liked the warm memories still held in the stitches, like a tiny ball of light hidden under all the pain and sadness of the war torn area. Dorian had always tried to get him to give it up, to replace it with something he thought was better, but Cole was stubborn. The Iron Bull told him he could keep what he wanted in his room, whatever he thought was important, and that’s always what Cole told Dorian when he fussed about it. It was a fragment of happiness left behind in the world, and he thought that was important enough to fight for, even if Dorian didn’t understand.

  
Aside from the quilt he had very few belongings. There was a picture of all of his friends in the Inquisition that Bull and Dorian had given him when he moved into their apartment. There was also a drawing pinned to the wall that was of the same people, except in that one everyone was drawn from behind, a row of wildly inaccurate butts presented to the viewer. Sera had signed it and slipped it under his hat one day. Cole liked it because it made everyone smile when they looked at it, which made him smile even more. There was also a small chest where he could put his extra clothes, and a stand to hang his hat at night. Other than that the room was sparse. Cole preferred to collect memories and people, rather than things. All of this was in its proper place in front of him, not a single thing moved from where he had left it before he had gone down to meet the others for their journey into the land of dreams.

  
He got out of his bed and walked to the door, fully dressed despite having just been in bed. He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should leave. Whatever was out there probably wouldn’t be good. The Nightmare wouldn’t have put him here to live through a pleasant scenario. It fed on fears, so he would want to make Cole as afraid as possible, to gain as much power as he could from him. Cole was hopeful that it wouldn’t work. He was stronger after meeting Autumn and everyone that gathered around her, stronger now that he was more human and learning new things every day. There were times he thought that being with them made him fearless, untouchable as he stood for what was right at their sides. They would need him to be brave now. If he didn’t leave the room and try to find a way out then he would never be able to help them escape the fade, and surely they would need his help. He couldn’t just leave them out there, so his only choice was to open the door.

  
He turned the knob and stepped out into the familiar hallway, lined with all the paintings Dorian and Bull had commissioned over the last few months. It was decorated lavishly, but what made it feel like home to Cole was that it was filled to the brim with love. Dorian and Bull loved each other, they loved him, and he loved them. Even Baron Plucky felt happy and safe when he was there, feeling like he was important and part of something where people would always remember him. It was nice, even nicer than the tavern had been, and Cole finally understood what it was to have a _home_ , and why it was so important to so many people.

  
Dorian was laying on the couch in the gathering room, his feet propped up on one of the arms while his head rested on a jewel toned pillow. He was flipping through the pages of a book, making small grimaces of displeasure at whatever he was reading there. He sighed, tossing the book backwards and sending it sailing into Cole’s stomach. He caught it, the leather binding soft against his fingertips, the pages smelling of old dust and older ideas. The absence of the sound the book would have made had it hit the floor seemed to surprise Dorian, who sat up and looked at Cole while he stood in the hallway, fidgeting with the spine of the tome.

  
Dorian’s eyes grew wide, surprise and terror overtaking his expression while he paled. “Who are you?” he asked indignantly.

  
Cole’s heart beat faster against his ribs. “Cole.” He answered. The lack of recognition in his friend’s eyes made the world seem heavier, weighing on his shoulders like the dirt above a grave, crushing something shut against the light of the sky so that he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe around the suffocating darkness.

  
“What are you doing in my house?” Dorian’s hand was inching slowly towards his staff, propped up against one of the tables beside the couch. Cole stared at his fingers, trembling against the fabric of the sofa. It was less painful to watch that than the emptiness in his eyes, the emptiness in his head. Cole could hear all of the places where the memories _should_ have been, rattling around like marbles in a bucket, nothing there but space and fear.

  
The door to the bedroom swung open, Bull striding out confidently. “Kadan, have you seen that paper with the – ” he stopped short, his eye taking in Dorian’s tense posture and following his gaze until he saw him. Cole was hit with a wave of thoughts, a catastrophic clattering of surprise, fear, anger, affront…roaring, raging, ripping through the shock, time passing around the moment slowly as he regarded the boy he didn’t remember, not a single grain of memory in the sand passing through the hourglass.

  
Everyone moved at once. Bull reached back into the room, pulling one of his axes off the wall and turning to face him while Dorian jumped and grabbed his staff, spinning it with a flourish before aiming it at Cole. Cole ran to the other end of the room, standing by the door that led outside, holding his hands up in front of him while his chest filled with pain. The Nightmare must have done something, must have filled their heads with ash and wind so that they didn’t see him anymore, leaving only impressions that drove them to action, their thoughts despairing, dark, a _demon_. Cole heard the word in Bull’s head and flinched away from it, unable to brace himself against the horrible pain that brought into his heart.

  
“I’m not a demon!” he said, his voice a shaking mess, all of his words jumbling together as the panic overtook him. They didn’t know him and it _hurt_ , so much, to stand in front of them and have all of his pieces missing from their heads.

  
“Right, and I’m the divine.” Bull snarled.

  
“ _Guards_!” Dorian shouted. “ _We could really use some help in here_!”

  
Cole ran. He opened the door behind him and ran down the hallway, his feet skirting over the edges of the steps as he headed towards the exit, needing to be outside, needing to find someone else, anyone else, that might remember who he was. The light outside was bright, too bright, the birds against the sun swallowed by the endless rays so that he had to squint and keep his gaze downward. The wind felt wrong, full of sounds and smells that were all the same but not quite right, missing, misshapen, meaningless as it brushed against the hair sticking out beneath the brim of his hat. The people in the yard, all of them as quiet as ghosts, looked up as he ran down the rest of the steps. His throat wanted to sob, but he bit back the urge, looking around for a direction that felt like it might hold salvation. Shouts echoed in the building behind him and he ran towards the great hall, his hat flying off his head to land forlornly on the grass behind him. He didn’t stop to pick it up.

  
Varric sat at his table just inside the massive doors, his fingers stained with ink while he looked at the pages, absorbing the words of love and longing, judging them insufficient to explain how he felt.

  
“Varric!” Cole called out to him, waiting for his warm smile and warmer nickname, wanting so badly for him to call him Kid and ask him why his face was so long again. Instead all he got was more screaming emptiness, blank, blind, blackness that felt like it would swallow him if he stared back into it for too long. He ran again, leaving behind the alarmed dwarf and moving towards the back of the room, where Autumn and Cullen stood talking next to the judgement throne, its dragonbone parts gleaming in the patterned lights from the stained glass windows. They turned towards him as the sound of his footsteps reached their ears, Cullen moving to stand in front of her protectively. It wasn’t really him, though, because he didn’t come with them into the fade. Whatever it was could become a demon if the Nightmare needed it to be, and Cole felt a tremor of fear lurch inside his chest.

  
“Get away from her!” he called. He would have rushed to push him away, but Cullen drew his sword and pointed it at Cole’s chest, and while the man and the blade might be false, shadows of the truth cast from his own mind, that didn’t mean death at his hands would be any less lethal. He stopped short, his feet making small scuffs against the floor, his arms swinging as he balanced himself to keep from toppling forward. “Autumn!” he pleaded, looking into her eyes and begging her to know him, to see him, to feel all of the affection she held for everyone she loved, all the joy that usually filled her when she gazed upon his face.

  
_Empty_.

  
Reaching, writhing, reacting to the nothingness reflected back at him, a thousand mirrors all showing the endless void, vaulted, vanished, vanquished to a realm where no one knew him again. She drew her daggers, giving him the look that always meant death, and Cole didn’t wait for her to act. He ran.

  
They were in his head, all of their thoughts, all turned towards the singular purpose of taking him out, killing him so that he couldn’t threaten them. He could tell by the walls around their minds that they wouldn’t listen to him explain, his words would bounce off the bricks without cracking the mortar. He ran, flying through the halls as quickly as his feet would carry him, his chest throbbing with the sobs that were bursting from within, heavy with the tears that were running down his cheeks. He was hunted, the timid mouse who hid in the dark from the stalking cats, rabid in their need to stop the little heartbeat that had crept into their lair. He rushed into an unused store room, opening a cupboard there and climbing in, slipping the door closed behind him, a thousand memories that weren’t really his leering at him in the shadows. His breathing sounded loud in the dark, but not loud enough to mask the hatred bearing down all around him, drowning him in hopelessness.

  
She had forgotten. They had all forgotten him. It was the same as it always was, and even though he knew it was the fade it still hurt to know that no one remembered him, that they could still look at him and see a demon come into the world to destroy what they knew. He’d spent so long after the White Spire trying to be real, learning what it meant to exist in a world that didn’t understand him, learning to be something that Rhys would have been proud of. Autumn had helped. She had seen him even when he thought she would forget, and trusted him to be what he wanted to be…and now the Nightmare had taken that away from him. Now there was nothing. Nothing in her head, nothing in her heart, nothing of him in this world he was trapped in, and he couldn’t escape because the pounding in his head made everything hurt beyond comprehension.

  
Cole crouched in the dark, sobbing as quietly as he could, wishing he were strong enough to be brave again.

 

***

 

There was a bag over her head. She could smell the mildew woven into the scratchy fabric, hanging heavily against her face and rubbing the tip of her nose raw. Every breath Lilly took was like drawing in a thousand tiny little hairs, dust and lint dragging across her nostrils and making her eyes water. She couldn’t see through the thick covering, only the faintest hint of light filtering through the weave. Her hands were bound behind her back, a coarse rope digging into her wrists and constricting her movement. She was kneeling on the ground, uneven wooden boards pressing into her kneecaps. She shifted, trying to ease the strain on her legs, and was pushed roughly on her shoulder, a clear warning that she should stay still. She couldn’t remember how she got here, or even where she was, but whatever was going on couldn’t be good.

  
Footsteps shook the ground beneath her, the wood creaking in response to at least two people approaching, one of them stopping some feet away while the other continued in a slow stroll back and forth in front of her. She swallowed, her mouth tasting like moldy cedar and soggy wool.

  
“Read their crimes, then proceed.” A sonorous voice said, the accent tantalizingly familiar. The way the man spoke seemed kind, although there was an edge of steel underneath, sharp and prodding at her nerves with the meaning of the words.

  
Another man cleared his throat, and there was a brief rustling of papers before he spoke. “Aveline Hendyr, previously Vallen. You stand accused of the corruption of the city guard, conspiracy against the city of Kirkwall, aiding and abetting known criminals, and assisted terrorism.”

  
“This is insane. You can’t seriously be doing this – ” she pleaded, but the ring of a blade being unsheathed silenced her. The air around Lilly seemed fraught with tension, just waiting for a spark to ignite the moment and send them all sky high.

  
“Guilty.” The familiar voice declared. Lilly heard someone whimper, a tiny voice shaking with fear and despair. Then all she could hear was the whine of the blade sailing through the air and the sickening slap of metal against flesh. Something heavy hit the floor, rolling a few uneven inches before it lay still. She felt a wave of shock roll through her, bile rising in the back of her throat as her addled mind tried to process what had just happened.

  
“Merrill of clan Sabrae.” The other voice continued.

  
“No!” Lilly cried, jumping to her feet and trying to run towards the voice. Strong gloved hands wrapped around her upper arms, yanking her back into place. She jerked her shoulders violently to no avail, no amount of struggling having any effect on the vicelike grips. She stilled when a pair of footsteps moved in front of her, stopping directly before her face. She panted into the fabric covering her head for a moment before it was yanked off abruptly, the bright light from the sun blinding her momentarily.

  
When she could see again she found herself staring into strange turquoise eyes she hadn’t seen in years. Sebastian, looking as put together and handsome as he always did, was regarding her with an expression somewhere between pity and disdain. She felt frozen in place under his cold gaze, icy tendrils winding up her legs and prickling goosebumps across her skin. They were on a makeshift platform somewhere in the woods, a secluded haven of trees and rustling leaves the only witness to the strange proceedings.

  
“Hawke.” He said. She kept her mouth shut, biting down on the litany of angry curses she wanted to sling at his holier-than-thou face. She glanced to the side and saw her friends lined up in a row, kneeling just as she had been with their heads hanging heavily from their slumped shoulders, each one bound and gagged. Anders lay in an unconscious heap at her side, his face disfigured into one massive, swollen bruise. Fenris shivered despite the warm summer air, his lyrium tattoos flickering like a dying flame, one eye forced shut by the injuries around it. Isabela leaned on his shoulder, her skin so peppered with bruises it looked like she had been passed through a meat grinder, her clothes ripped so that she was barely covered anymore. Varric glared at Sebastian, his hair matted with blood that looked like it had dried hours ago, breathing heavily around the gag in his mouth. Bethany knelt next to him, an ugly purple mark wrapped around her throat and a vivid red cut across her lower lip. Merrill wept silently around the cloth forced between her lips, tears staining her reddened cheeks and a trail of blood trickling from her scalp. Lilly’s breath disappeared from her lungs when she saw the crumpled body that used to be Aveline, her severed head sitting in a slowly spreading pool of blood.

  
“You son of a bitch!” she screeched, trying her best to lunge at the man before her. He frowned at her, shaking his head in mild disappointment. “I’ll kill you!”

  
He sighed, as though her anger was merely an inconvenience for him. “Gag her.” He ordered, and one of the men approached with a filthy cloth. She wrenched her head to the side, earning her a sharp slap across the face from one of the guards, the metal of his gauntlets stunning her momentarily and allowing them to force the gag into her mouth, tying it tightly behind her head. She screamed again, but the sound was swallowed by the fabric.

  
“Proceed.” Sebastian snapped, and a man dressed in Starkhaven colors jumped slightly, holding a scroll up in front of his face.

  
“Merrill of clan Sabrae, you stand accused of apostasy, blood magic, consorting with demons, aiding and abetting known criminals, and assisted terrorism.” The guard recited. Merrill whined weakly, sobs working their way around the gag.

  
Sebastian glowered down at her. “Guilty.”

  
Another guard with a bloodied blade moved forward, and with one swift swing severed her head from her neck, sending a shower of blood spraying through the air.

  
“Bethany Hawke, you stand accused of desertion from the Grey Warden order, aiding and abetting known criminals, and failure to disclose information to figures of authority.”

  
“Guilty.”

  
Again the blade swung, and another life was ended. Lilly screamed, writhing in the grasp of her captors, straining against the bonds in an effort to do something, to stop this from happening. They couldn’t do this, they couldn’t take them from her, not like this…

  
“Varric Tethras, you stand accused of aiding and abetting known criminals, actively hiding relevant information from figures of authority, assisted terrorism, and publishing slander, lies, and propaganda.”

  
“Guilty.”

  
Varric managed to smile one last time around his gag before the sword cut through his neck, the red spraying into the air the same shade as the brightly colored tunic he loved to wear. Lilly could feel her arms bruising as the fingers around them clamped tighter and tighter.

  
“Isabela – ” the guard began, but she spit out the gag and interrupted him.

  
“Just get on with it choir boy.” She snarled, her teeth red from the blood in her mouth. Sebastian nodded his head and it was over quickly, her life splattering across Fenris’ face as he watched in horror. He sobbed once, choking underneath the gag, the sound so alien coming from him that it was a wonder the universe didn’t crumble beneath the unbearable agony. Lilly could feel the muscles in her throat pulling too tight, ready to snap as she forced more screams through her aching teeth.

  
Fenris had a list of crimes similar to the others, and he died with his head held high despite the tears tracking through the blood on his battered face. The light in his tattoos died along with the light in his eyes, like a star winking out of existence to leave the night sky that much darker.

  
Lilly waited for the shock of what was happening to overtake her as the executioner approached Anders. She waited for the pain to recede into numbness so that she wouldn’t have to feel what was about to happen. It was coming, the empty void of emotionlessness had to come. She couldn’t stand to feel the full effects of seeing this come to pass directly before her eyes, no person could truly feel this much crushing loss and survive it, so she waited to stop feeling altogether.

  
It never came, and when they read off his list of crimes she kicked her feet, begging someone, something, anything to intervene and save her from this reality. This couldn’t be happening. How could he have found them all, after all this time? Everything she had ever cared about was lying in a lake of carnage, blank eyes staring out at the world that had robbed them of any chance they had ever had at happiness. She cried, she screamed, she kicked and shook and pleaded for pity, but all of it was to no avail. They took his head without ever waking him up, and the only mercy she was granted was the knowledge that he would never have to live through the horror she had seen this day.

  
She stopped struggling, everything in her dying as her love’s blood seeped from within him to soak the wood underneath her shoes. She hung her head, watching it stain the leather a rich red, dark and almost beautiful in a sickening, horrible way. Large, glistening tear drops fell from her face, splashing into the red sea and mingling together before disappearing into the cracks between the wood below. Everything was over. Everything was gone. At least, after all this time, she could finally stop fighting.

  
She didn’t even have the strength to flinch when Sebastian’s fingers curled underneath her chin, forcing her head up so that she had to look him in the eye. He used one of his hands to gently wipe the tears from her face, and if she were less empty she would have shuddered. She should have hated him for it, for that tender touch that was so discordant with the man he truly was, but she discovered there was no possible way that she could hate him more than she did right then. There was nothing he could do to make things worse for her.

  
“Ah, Lilly. Everything could have been so much better if you had never met any of them.” He murmured. She didn’t respond, would not have responded even were she not bound and gagged and presented to him like a prize. She saw the anger simmer behind his eyes as he spoke. “It was all your fault, you know. Every bad thing that’s happened can be traced back to you. _You_ were the one who kept Anders safe all those years. It was _your_ fault he was out of control, and every life he took is on your head. _You_ were the one who freed Corypheus, _you_ were the one who didn’t ensure he was dead. Everyone who died in the cursed mage rebellion? Your fault. Every Templar corrupted to join Corypheus’ army? Your fault. _All_. _Your_. _Fault_.”

  
She tried not to let his words sink in, tried not to believe him. She tried to tell herself she never could have seen these things coming, that she had done her best, that it was forces beyond her control that had led to all of these terrible effects, but her heart wasn’t in it. Deep down she knew that it was her fault, if only for the fact that her best wasn’t good enough. It never was, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how often she struggled to save everyone, the only thing she ever accomplished was death and destruction. Wherever she went she ruined lives, and the scale of that abominable ability had only gotten larger as she grew older, made more potent by her vast array of mistakes. She was born to a family that was ripped to shreds, fleeing from a town that was swallowed by the blight. She settled in a city that was torn apart repeatedly, and made friends who stood by her only to be brought to this gruesome end. Everything she touched turned to ash, and she couldn’t hide from the fact that it was her doing after all. There was no running from it any longer, no path of redemption she could walk upon now. It was over and she was over, and it truly was all her fault.

  
He took a deep breath, returning his voice to a normal level as he ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it. “It’s alright. I know this hurts now, but it’s for your own good. You’ll thank me one day.” He turned from her, facing the guard with the scroll, who had rolled it up neatly despite the splatters of red across its surface. “Take her to the re-educators. Tell the Arishok I want her broken, but make sure she doesn’t die. I have plans for her.”

  
Her heart leaped into her throat, pulsing there so that she choked on every breath, her thoughts racing around in circles that cut straight through her mind. Re-educators? She called out, her voice weak and barely penetrating the gauze stuffed in her mouth. Sebastian turned back to look at her, cupping her cheek gently. This time she did not meekly submit, tilting her head away as far as she could. Something dark and foreboding swam up in his gaze, and she saw the muscles in his jaw clench spasmodically. His hand shot out, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her hair painfully, jerking her forward so that her eyes were mere inches from his.

  
“You will forget all about them, Hawke. I waited for you, I waited for a long time for you to come to your senses, to make the right decisions. I’m done waiting.” He growled. He released her, and the guards holding her started dragging her off.

  
Lilly screamed again, struggling against the inevitable erasure of everything she was, and wished more than anything she had never been born.


	24. Not Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Autumn faces her nightmare and her reunion is perhaps not what she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh...trigger warning.

Hot, stagnant air pressed against her skin, a heavy sheen of sweat misting across her body in an instant. Her eyes fluttered open, the red glow in the room combining with the heat to make her feel as though she were submerged in flame, caught in molten amber against stone that had baked in the sun for an eon. Autumn still wore her armor, leather plates bound together with the security and efficiency only Dagna could construct. Her booted feet dangled an inch above the ground, her arms shackled to the wall above her head, splaying her out like a specimen on display. Spikes of red lyrium jutted out of the walls around her, shards littered the floor, little towers of shimmering doom hanging low from the ceiling. The stifling room had no windows, had no doors, had no furniture and nothing distinctive, save the man who stood in its center.

  
His yellowed eyes moved across her body, from her face downward, slowly drifting over each part of her as though savoring it. Beads of perspiration hung against his temples, his black hair plastered to the sides of his head. He drew the back of his hand across his brow, wiping at the sweat as his lips quirked upward in a little smile that made the acid in her stomach rise to the back of her throat. He licked his lips and she trembled.

  
“You’re not real. Samson is dead. I killed him.” She said, her voice flat and emotionless, drained of all its vitality as her worst nightmare stood there leering at her.

  
He strode forward slowly, each step inching him closer to her. “That hardly matters.” He drawled. “Your pulse still jumps.”

  
Another step.

  
“Your mind still fogs as your thoughts race.”

  
Another step, close enough to touch her. He leaned into her, his breath burning against her cheek.

  
“You are still _terrified_.”

  
She turned away, looking at the ground and trying to will herself to calm down. She tried to swallow but the arid desert in her mouth evaporated the action, the air in her lungs like poisonous ash as she tried to breathe.

  
She didn’t see the blow coming, his heavy fist sheathed in the gauntlet of lyrium and metal driving into her stomach hard enough to force a violent cough from her throat. She could feel everything inside her bruising, her body instinctively trying to shrink away from the pain but having nowhere to go, the bones of her spine grinding against the unforgiving wall behind her.

  
“Not real. Not real. Not real.” She chanted breathlessly, the sound barely more than a hum. She closed her eyes, willing the words to mean something, willing them to have some magical property to free her from this nightmare.

  
Samson’s hands wrapped around her head, his palms pressing onto her cheeks, the metal of his gloves searing hot, as though fresh from the forge. “Do you know how long I have waited for this?” he hissed.

  
He brought his face forward, inhaling deeply as he trailed his nose along her neck, and she whimpered involuntarily. She was quickly losing the capability for coherent thought, something inside her mind scrabbling for cover, shrinking into a dark corner until it would be safe to come out again. Her muscles felt like they were falling flat, like she had been numbed from head to toe, and while she still felt everything keenly, every point of contact with him lighting up like torches scattered in the darkness, the rest of her felt disconnected and cold. She whined again when he dragged his tongue along her jawline, a sob choking out of her chest. She could feel his grin against her skin, the gleeful joy he was getting from her torment crushing her into a small, weak thing that was helpless against the tide of terror churning inside her.

  
“You will feel _everything_.” He vowed.

  
A long silver knife appeared in his hand, if it had been there before she certainly hadn’t seen it, and he set to work cutting away the straps on her armor. Every carefully placed slice slid the blade across her skin, separating her flesh with angry red gashes that bled in slow little rivulets. She bit her lip to keep from screaming, tasting blood on her tongue as her teeth clamped down. She could do nothing to fight back, nothing to staunch the flow of tears as she wept, reduced to a simpering, terrified little girl, exactly what he wanted her to be.

  
“Are you what passes for pretty in the mortal realm?” he slid the knife across an exposed patch of skin, opening her up like a present. “I see nothing of value here.”

  
Her armor was shed like flower petals, falling to the ground to leave her as bare as a stem in winter, nothing to hide behind and rooted in place. She was covered in wounds by the time he had finished, long red welts that oozed crimson tears to match those on her cheeks. Her chest heaved up and down, her breath erratic and forced through a throat that wanted to close off, and Samson took a moment to stare at her, his eyes admiring the damage he had caused. He pressed his palm flat on her stomach, sliding the hand up between her breasts, a flick of his other wrist sending the knife nipping a painful path along her collarbone. His hand reversed directions, slowly slipping downward until his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her pants, wiggling against her skin as he exhaled a heady breath over her chest.

  
“No…please…” she begged even as she turned her head to the side in an effort to escape, to avoid having to watch as he continued his brutal work. He had time to laugh wickedly before the air shifted in the room and they were both blinded by a flash of calm, green light.

  
A burst of refreshing, cool air washed over her skin, chilling the layers of sweat and blood there and sending a shiver along her spine. Samson turned, his face suffused with rage at the interruption, and she followed his gaze to the other end of the room, where Solas stood. His robes, white and pale green silks wrapping around his form, fluttered in the breeze that seemed to emanate from him. His brow was creased in rage as he glared at Samson, his blue eyes clouded like a violent storm. He lifted his arm, his staff gripped tightly in his long fingers, and with a flourish he sent Samson flying away from her and crashing into the opposite wall, the knife falling out of his grip and clattering against the stone floor.

  
“You should have accepted your defeat and fled while you yet lived, demon.” Solas growled, his voice a feral sound that spoke of primal wrath and fury.

  
“No! I have broken through your defenses before and I will again!” the demon screamed, his form shifted from Samson back to the tentacle wreathed Nightmare, quivering with barely contained indignation. He threw himself at Solas, long claws extending from his hands as he flew forward with terrifying speed. Solas swept his staff in a wide arc, sparks flying from the crystal at the tip as electricity danced along its length. The weapon made contact with the Nightmare’s stomach, sending him careening in the opposite direction with a horrible wheezing sound as the breath was driven from his lungs. He crashed into the floor, shaking the foundations of the room with a tremor that rattled the very stones around her.

  
“I will have my vengeance!” he screamed, standing on legs that seemed to waver in and out of existence, flickering like a ghost illuminated in a pulsing flash of lightning.

  
“You will not live long enough to try again.” Solas said, and he thrust his hands forward, shooting electricity from his palms to coalesce around the demon. It shrieked, its voice rising to an almost inaudible pitch as its body convulsed, dancing light filling the room and growing steadily brighter until Autumn was forced to shut her eyes, the white aftereffects still too much behind her dark lids. She felt the energy nettle along her skin, tiny pinpricks of errant fire that stung wherever they touched. She grit her teeth, shaking in her confines, wishing she were not so exposed as the room filled with light and ferocity.

  
Then the air abruptly calmed and she opened her eyes. Nothing was left of the Nightmare besides a pile of ash in the corner, no more threatening than dust to be swept away later. She took a deep breath, feeling the clean air fill her lungs like she had never breathed before, letting it calm her heartbeat as she tried to piece together her broken thoughts. Solas approached her, studiously avoiding her gaze has he wrapped gentle fingers around her wrists. The chains and shackles disappeared and she fell forward limply into his waiting arms. He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and set her on her feet before stepping away from her, and with a wave of his hand her injuries disappeared, the throbbing of the cuts vanishing as though they had never been. She sank to the ground, unable to stand on her own feet, and another pitiful sob worked its way past her lips. She clutched at the blanket, sniffling irritably, wishing she could crawl into a cave somewhere and hide until no one remembered who she was, and could never ask her what she had been through. When she finally found an ounce of courage she looked up at her friend, who was glaring down at her with obvious displeasure.

  
“What were you thinking?” he shouted. One of his hands curled into an irate fist at his side. “What would possess you to consider such a reckless course of action?”

  
She recoiled away from the force of his words, stunned by his reaction. “I…I had to find you.” She stammered.

  
“You have no experience with the fade. Did you think you had enough knowledge after your few trips through this place to navigate its mysteries?” he rejoined, practically shaking as he shouted down at her. “Do you honestly value your life so little? Or are you so arrogant as to assume you can truly survive anything?”

  
The accusation stung, and she found the terror and misery within her being replaced with a sharp anger that wiped away some of the numbness and shock that had swallowed her earlier. “I didn’t have any other choice. I needed your help, and you didn’t exactly give me a lot of options to find you.” She snapped.

  
“I cannot help you, and you should not have come here.” He snapped his mouth shut at the end of his words with an audible click, his anger and disappointment evident in his posture, an arrogant expression plastered on his face.

  
She held the blanket around herself as she scrambled to her feet to face him at the same level. “Where did you go, Solas?”

  
“It is no concern of yours.” He half turned away from her, averting his gaze as he crossed his arms over his chest. She was filled with the urge to grab him and shake him, to hit him and inflict just a fraction of the pain his abandonment had caused her, but instead she fisted the blanket around her fingers, practically ripping the fabric in the force of her grip.

  
“Not my concern? Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to treat me this way?” her voice rose in pitch as she took a step towards him.

  
“My affairs do not concern you. Let it go, Autumn.”

  
“Are you kidding me?” she scoffed. She took another step towards him, and he responded by moving a step back, carefully keeping his distance. “What’s wrong with you?!”

  
“Me?!” his mouth fell open incredulously. “I am not the one throwing myself into harm’s way as though I wished to die. I am not the one provoking fights with the wardens as though war were merely a chore.” His face fell immediately after the words were out of his mouth and he shifted his gaze away, the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth together.

  
She stared at him for a moment, unable to comprehend what she had just heard. “How did you know about that?” she asked quietly.

  
He took a heavy breath through his nostrils, exhaling slowly before he responded. “I may find you in the fade from time to time.”

  
When he failed to elaborate further she felt the irritation within her spark into a blazing rage. “You _spy_ on me? You don’t have the decency to say goodbye, but you have the _gall_ to keep tabs on me while I’m sleeping? How many times, Solas? Why don’t I remember?”

  
He seemed to hesitate, the large breadth of distance he had shoved between them seeming to close slightly. “I am sorry, I did not mean to…” his trailed off, and for a moment she thought they might be getting somewhere, but then he squared his shoulders and the resolute scowl crept back across his face. “I am sorry.” He repeated again, with far less emotion than would have been required to make amends.

  
“Solas, talk to me, explain this to me. Why are you acting like this?” she stepped towards him again, and once more he moved away, keeping her at arm’s length.

  
His anger flared up again, sharp as he lashed out. “Are you a child? Must everything be explained to you? Must the world bend to your whims lest you pout and throw tantrums? You are a human, you would not understand even if I spelled it out for you.” His hand cut through the air with finality, and the remark hung heavily between them. She felt like little cracks were forming along her skin, little blemishes in her carefully constructed veneer as it crumbled under the onslaught of anger, resentment, and above all else arduous pain.

  
“A child? A _human_ child? How very horrible. What a disgusting thing to be.” her voice was low, barely a whisper as she tossed the sarcasm in his face, her only weapon against his words. She willfully blinked back the tears tickling the edges of her eyes, her lashes laden with the moisture she refused to let fall. “The only one I see here throwing a tantrum is you, Solas. But I’m glad I finally see how you truly feel.” She caught the stricken look on his face before she turned her back to him, scowling at the floor and clutching the blanket that smelled like him, compounding her sadness as it brought forth all the memories where he had been at her side, seemingly being one of her dearest friends.

  
She could feel him hesitating behind her, as though whatever thoughts he wrestled were being thrown about the room, a vicious tumult she didn’t understand. “I apologize. I did not mean that.” His voice reflected his sorrow, and had she not been so utterly crushed she might have turned and forgiven him immediately. As it stood, her pride held her still, facing away from him as she tried to compose herself. He placed a hand on her shoulder, applying feather-light pressure that made her skin prickle at the contact. “I cannot explain, but do not feel that it devalues our friendship.”

  
She turned, letting his hand brush along her forearm before it fell limply to his side. “I need your help. Anders needs your help.” She was proud that she kept the shaking out of her voice, proud that it sounded even and resolute, albeit a little flat.

  
“I cannot help him.” He sighed, the breath ghosting across her face as it left his lungs.

  
“Why?” she looked into his eyes, filled with a mix of emotions she could not name, a chaotic blend that seemed to reflect her own in some way that she would never be able to explain. “Why won’t you try? Why won’t you talk to me?”

  
He brushed her hair away from her face, his hand lingering on the side of her cheek as he shook his head sadly. “I will always protect you, Autumn, but I cannot protect everyone. You will have to learn that, and accept that you cannot save everyone.”

  
She felt the spell before she saw him move and she tried to reach out and grab him before it was too late. Her fingers passed through him as though he were no more substantial than smoke, and the pressure from the hand on her face disappeared. She tried to call out, but her mouth felt heavy, numbed just as it had when she had taken the potion before she entered the fade. The last thing she saw was his face, dark blue eyes like the ocean depths and a small, forlorn smile on his pale lips.

 

***

 

When she opened her eyes again she sat upright in her bed, a small thread of anger and pain in the back of her mind being tugged as she blinked and acclimated to her surroundings. It was seconds before the others were awake, screams of terror on their lips as they shot forward, fading slowly as each one recognized they were no longer in the fade. Cole tumbled out of his bed onto the floor, staring at all of them with such fright that she feared he might not be aware he was released. Dorian was out of his seat in a flash, racing over to him with concern written plainly all over his face.

  
“Cole?” he asked, and Cole jumped at him, flinging his arms around him and sobbing violently, ragged cries tearing from his throat. Dorian returned the embrace, murmuring sweet sounds of encouragement and looking slightly nonplussed. Bull tossed himself into the group within moments, his own face looking slightly haunted as he pressed the pair to his chest. Autumn didn’t need to ask if it was the nightmares that had caused them distress. If they had been anywhere as near as bad as hers she couldn’t blame them for their reactions. Lilly wordlessly got out of her cot and climbed in with Varric, curling up next to him like a cat seeking shelter from a storm. He wrapped an arm around her somewhat awkwardly, shrugging to himself as he resigned to the strange contact. Cassandra and Varric looked equally shaken, although they were far more composed about it, and Autumn shared a tremulous smile with each of them.

  
“Did you talk to him?” Cassandra asked her, clearing her throat irritably after it cracked.

  
Autumn looked away, staring at the floor to avoid seeing anyone’s reactions. “I did.” She pursed her lips, trying to think of an account that would suffice to explain what had just happened. She understood so little of it herself, she hardly felt qualified to relay it to anyone else, nor did she _want_ to share it. There was something too painful in admitting, out loud, the things Solas had said to her. A large part of her wished she could simply say it had all been a fragment of the nightmare, but it would be a lie if she did. She knew it had been him, had recognized his spirit as surely as she would have known her own. The Solas she had met in the fade had been no illusion, as much as she might wish he had.

  
“We can discuss it later. I think we will need to recover from our ordeals.” Cassandra told her softly, somehow sensing everything Autumn didn’t want to say. She gave the woman a small smile, more grateful for her intuition in this moment than she had ever been before.

  
“I second that notion.” Varric grumbled, somewhat numbly.

  
Autumn got out of the bed, standing on her own two feet on ground that didn’t carry the ghosts of the past quite so heavily as the fade did. A plan began to form in the back of her head, a dark idea that blossomed into something that terrified her as much as it excited her. She left the room without further preamble, startled by the lavender dusk sky that hung above her head when she made it outside. The wind picked up, carrying the silvery tendrils of the snow on the Frostbacks through her hair. She took everything in with a new sense of clarity, breathing in the familiar smells of home and relishing how they healed the dangerous wounds dealt to her heart. There would be scars from her venture, of that she could be sure, but no more deep than the ones she already carried, and none that she could face until her goals had been accomplished. She had work to do before she could examine herself too carefully, and she didn’t have the luxury to take her time about it.

  
A smattering of stars blinked into visibility above her as she walked to her room, and Autumn held her head high in the knowledge that this wasn’t yet over.


	25. This is Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Autumn is reunited with Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a few quick notes here, I am very likely going to be starting a new job soon, which I will probably gush about more when I know for sure I have it. In addition to that, I am working on a novella to try and send to Tor's call for unsolicited works to see if I can get it published. As a result of these two things, updates on this fic will slow down. I will try to make sure you guys get at least one chapter a week, and I will certainly update faster if I have more than that from some kind of writing frenzy. Hopefully you don't all murder me over cliffhangers in the meantime. :D
> 
> Enjoy the chapter, my lovelies, and thank you so much for reading and commenting and kudos and all the other wonderful things you all do. :)

He strained to see the words on the page, all the little black marks blurring together until they were unrecognizable, a stream of random blots of ink that at one moment listed troop allocations or requisitions, and the next could have been one of Sera’s drawings of butts for all the sense they made to his tired eyes. Cullen let the paper settle on the desk, blinking as he became aware of the darkness that had settled over the room, the sun finally finishing its journey below the horizon. The room was filled with the calming purple hues of dusk, that exact combination of light and dark that always felt like the world was held in thrall of some magical spell, enchanted by the idea of the stars dancing with the moon. He hadn’t bothered to light any candles, not realizing just how late it had become, so the bewitching light of the dying sun was the only thing filtering into the room through windows left open from when there had still been an afternoon breeze.

  
He leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking as his weight shifted, and rubbed at the tense muscles at the base of his neck. It had been ten hours since Autumn and her team had settled into the fade, hours which he had attempted to fill with busywork to keep his mind from straying to the nearly limitless list of things that could potentially go wrong with their venture. He had perfected the art of watching her ride off to battle over the course of their relationship, but something about the fact that she was in the fade again had his nerves on edge slightly more than usual. It was perhaps his own past experiences with demons that made him fret, knowing the full extent of what they were capable of and knowing that she had gone to the one place she was most likely to experience similar tortures. He could only hope they found Solas without incident, and that she would not be put through anything as harrowing as he feared. She had already lived through more than any one person should be asked to survive, she certainly didn’t need anything new to add to her nightmares.

  
And nightmares were certainly a concern for her. She tried to play it off like they were unimportant, and she often times would feign ignorance to the problem in its entirety, but Cullen had caught her more than once curled up at the edge of the bed and rocking herself back and forth quietly, or slipping from under the covers to sit on the floor in front of the balcony and stare listlessly up at the sky. She was incredibly reluctant to talk about it, and he knew from experience that trying to force it out of her would do little to actually ease the strain of whatever was haunting her. He had to be patient, to show her he was here for her when she needed him, and hope that she didn’t tear herself apart by suffering in silence.

  
It would hurt considerably less to watch if he hadn’t gone through the same thing himself some years ago.

  
The sound of the door swinging open drew his attention, and he looked at the stairs through the darkness. Part of him was alert to danger, another part of him hoping it was his wife returning to him safely, while yet another piece of his mind warned himself not to get his hopes up. When frizzy red curls rose into his line of sight he very nearly jumped for joy, settling instead for rising from the chair and walking towards her. Her eyes were intense as she moved fluidly towards him, and there was something slightly offsetting within them that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  
“Thank the Maker you’re back safe, I was – ”

  
His sentence was completely shattered as she closed the distance between them and smashed her lips to his, kissing him with a desperation that sent his words scattering to the far corners of his mind. He closed his eyes, giving into the voracity of her affection, succumbing to wrap his arms around her and pull her flush against him. She used her clever tongue to tease open his lips and deepen the kiss, inhaling sharply as they tasted one another in the dark room. She moved her hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up as she started pressing him backwards with her hips, shifting him towards the bed. She practically tore the garment over his head, tossing it to the side before running her nails up and down his abdomen. He let out a small hiss of pleasure that she swallowed with her lips again, her deft little fingers working at the laces of his pants before he had any time to recover.

  
When he stood naked before her and completely out of breath she placed her palms on his shoulders and pushed him back lightly, sending him tumbling down on top of the bed he did not quite recall walking to. He watched her as he bounced on the mattress, their eyes locked in an intense gaze that sent a small bolt of electricity zipping through his system. She removed her own clothing hurriedly, her swollen lips parted slightly as her breath passed through them. Her eyes left his only once, to run up and down his body as he sat at the edge of the bed propped up slightly on his elbows. She shimmied out of her pants and smalls, kicking them off the back of her foot like an afterthought, her skin almost glowing in the hazy twilight, pale as the moon peeking through paper thin clouds. He moved to sit up and bring his hands around her hips, but before he could traverse the gap between them she had pounced on him, pinning him back to the bed with feral competence.

  
His small cry of protest was silenced in another searing kiss, her tongue winding against his as his eyes rolled back in his head. He resigned himself to her control, letting her take the lead in the passionate struggle, her fingers tracing paths of fire along his muscles. Her thighs pressed heavily against his stomach as she balanced on her knees, straddling him. He could feel the heat coming from between her legs, the smell of her arousal filling the room and making his stomach clench in anticipation. Slowly, almost languidly, he moved his hand down to slide between her legs, his fingers parting her wet folds to tease her opening. She let out a small, breathy sigh against his lips before dipping her hand down to cover his, pushing his finger into her impatiently before rocking her hips back and forth into his hand. She mewled softly, placing both her hands on his chest while working herself into a frenzy as he thumbed her sensitive bundle of nerves. He added another finger, curling them slightly in rhythm with her thrusts, and she came undone in his palm in record time, breaking their kiss to murmur his name with a broken gasp in his ear.

  
She took no time to recover, shifting herself so that she hovered over his hips. Her eyes, green and smoldering like a burning forest, held his gaze as she stroked his length once before guiding him in, and Cullen felt himself drift away into mindless pleasure as her heat clenched around him. She shuddered, holding them both still for a moment as she drew a slow, soft path of kisses across his jaw. The only noise in the room was their staggered breathing, her lips too gentle against his skin to make a sound, and for a moment he thought they might both die with the aching sweetness of the moment, swept away in whatever cloying thought that had brought this on. Just when he thought he could bear the motionlessness no longer she shifted her hips, rising up slowly before sinking back down, moving with the rhythm of the rolling tide, slow and determined, crashing against him before gathering herself for another pass. They brought their lips together again and he groaned into her mouth, savoring every slow drag of her hips against his, memorizing her all over again as if he hadn’t claimed her a thousand times before. The taste of her lips, the feel of her breasts ghosting against his chest, the way her knees pressed against his sides, how her hair hung down so that he saw her through a tunnel of red ringlets that haloed her reverent expression. His pulse and his breath came in tandem with hers, the same beat driving them both forward, inhaling each other only to exhale together.

  
She moved her fingers into his hair, her nails scraping along his scalp and tugging lightly at the locks now curling with sweat. He moaned loudly, grabbing at her backside and trying to find purchase as his mind reeled, teetering on the edge of ecstasy and madness. She pressed her forehead against his, staring into his eyes like she thought he might not see her, and her gaze was clouded with heat and desperation.

  
“I love you.” She gasped, the words a kiss as she spoke them against his lips. “This is real. I love you. This is real, this is real…” she chanted absently, her eyes fluttering closed.

  
With a pang of guilt he realized she was linking with him to banish whatever images remained in her head from the fade. The ferocity of her passion, while backed with the blinding honesty of their very real love, was driven by her need to connect with him, to prove something to herself that had been called into doubt by what she had experienced. He harbored no ill will towards her for that need, it was something he would have willingly given her had she gathered the words to ask, but he felt that he had fundamentally failed because he had not seen it sooner, too caught up in the bliss over having her in his arms. It was possible the space and time he had been trying to give her to allow her to heal had been more a detriment to her than he had thought, and he would never forgive himself if she had suffered because of his reluctance to push her.

  
He moved his hands up and down along her back while she rode him, using his palms to press reassuring pathways across her spine. He leaned his head upward enough to kiss her, pulling her lips down to meet his as he poured as much love as he could into the connection. “I love you too, and I am real. THIS is real. WE are real.” He told her when she pulled back for air.

  
It was enough, it was everything she needed, and she unraveled around him, letting out a wordless cry of relief and wonder as she climaxed. Her rhythm came to a stuttering halt as she rode out her pleasure, and he waited until she was completely stilled before he slipped his hands to the back of her thighs, holding her steady as he sat up. Carefully, and with a sense of balance that was miraculous considering how pleasure addled he was, he stood, lifting them without separating. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands laced around the back of his neck as she panted into his shoulder. He peppered the side of her neck with kisses as he backed them up against the wall.

  
Using the wall as leverage he pinned her there, freeing his hands to pull her arms from around him while she used her legs to grip him tightly. He laced his fingers through hers and brought them to rest between their chests, just over his heart as it pounding against his ribs.

  
He made sure to meet her eyes, to ensure she heard him and was absorbing everything. “This is real, and I love you.” He repeated.

  
Then he rolled his hips to thrust upward into her, setting a pace decidedly faster than the one she had maintained before. She threw her head back, tilting it against the wall and moaning with reckless abandon, his own grunts of effort and pleasure meeting hers to fill the room with the sound of their love. Her legs shook around him, half spent from coming previously, but he kept their hands locked together between them and relied on the wall to hold her aloft, feeling her heart pressed against the back of his knuckles and his heart beating into the back of hers. They lost themselves in the easy motions of two bodies that connected on a level far deeper than the physical, two souls intertwined forever at the most indisputable planes, so that every nerve that lit up with desire and bliss carried an echo throughout their entire being. It was carnal and spiritual, a diversion and an affirmation, and it so perfectly encapsulated who they were that it was all he could do to remain standing, giving over to her everything that he was with each velvet rut.

  
When she came again he chased her, spilling into her as he swallowed their cries with another kiss, lips locking together and freezing there as they both shivered in release. Moments or hours later, he would never be able to tell, he shakily carried them back to the bed, setting her down delicately before crawling in beside her. She curled into his arms, letting him envelope her in affection while they both caught their breath, the afterglow hanging to their skin as thick as the glistening sheen of sweat they both wore.

  
When he could no longer hear his heart beating inside his own ears he placed a tender kiss on the crown of her head. “Is everything okay?”

  
She didn’t answer for a long time, the quiet stretching out between them and filling him with dread, both over what she must have been through and over whether or not the asking was too much for her to handle. In the long pause he died a thousand deaths of guilt and compassion, wishing more than anything he could erase the scars on her heart and banish the ghosts behind her eyes.

  
“Not really, but it will be.” She said finally, and her voice didn’t sound as forlorn as he had expected, which gave him hope that it was not as bad as he feared.

  
“Do you want to talk about it?”

  
She looked up at him, bringing her small hands around his face to press lightly on his cheeks while she gave him a wide smile that was more a brazen lie than a reassurance. She looked heartbroken, like a woman torn into too many pieces to be able to express happiness ever again, and it broke a part of him to see it. “Not tonight. Soon, but not tonight.” She promised.

  
He wavered for a moment, wondering if he should call the deflection for what it was, but in the end he snuggled closer to her, cradling her to his chest to let her fall asleep in his arms. He loved her too much to deny her this small reprieve. Tomorrow he would sit with her and confront her on all the things she thought she hid so well. Tomorrow he would hold her and talk with her of nightmares and tragedies, help her open up her heart so they could extract the poisons there together, help her work through the things that could destroy a person’s soul if they weren’t watched closely. Tonight he would just be here, however, holding her and letting her know he was hers, forever and always. Tonight that was all that was needed, and for now it was enough.

  
He fell asleep listening to her even breathing, memorizing her warmth as it chased him into his own dreams.

 

***

 

She waited until she was sure he was asleep before extricating herself from his embrace and climbing out of bed. She moved like a silent shadow across the room, dressing in the darkest black leather armor she had, fastening the clasps with quiet purpose before throwing a cloak the color of pitch over her shoulders, hiding even the smallest hint of metal so that nothing on her would catch the moonlight and give her away. She had no need to pack a bag, there was always one ready and waiting for her near the stables that she could grab on her way, so once she was clothed there was little left for her to do.

  
As she sat at the desk and pulled out paper and ink her heart was heavy with guilt, the regret for what she was about to do roaring within her like a caged, angry beast, clawing away at her resolve so that she felt like a bundled ball of hesitation, stilled with her uncertainty. Looking at her sweet, perfect husband sleeping peacefully in their bed was almost enough to change her mind, but she didn’t think she could face herself in the morning if she became someone that hid from a task simply because it was difficult. She dipped her quill into the ink and wrote the words across the page, trying to make them as honest and simple as she dared, hoping with everything she was that he would understand when he read it, that he wouldn’t hate her for what she was about to do. It was the first time since that promise so long ago that she had kept something from him, the first secret that broke their clandestine rules, and it made things feel so much worse that it was on the tail of the mother of all deflections. There was a very real possibility that this would be too much, that this would hurt their relationship beyond repair, and her hand shook as she wrote out the explanation that would likely mean very little to the man she loved.

  
She wiped her tears away before they could fall and folded the finished note, adding his name to the outside. She crept back across the room, carefully placing it on the table next to his gloves, where she was positive he would see it when he dressed in the morning. She took one long, mournful look at him, chewing on her lower lip and sending out a million half started, silent apologies before she finally turned and left, her footfalls barely making a sound as she descended the stairs and slipped out the door.

  
She stayed in the darkest shadows as she moved through the keep, passing by all of the sentries unnoticed. She didn’t drop her guard until she was at least a mile beyond the gates, the sounds of the patrols long behind her. She tossed back her hood, letting the icy wind tickle her hair while she looked up at the stars, praying to the Maker that she was doing the right thing. She was sure that she was, there was no other alternative that she could see, but leaving behind everyone she loved like this ate away at her resolve in a way that was more demoralizing than she expected. She grit her teeth, picking up her pace as the upper crust of snow broke with a crunch underneath her boots.

  
He had said he would always protect her. Those words had been the only gift he had granted her in their tumultuous reunion, and they had stuck in her mind like they had been tattooed there, scorched across her skin so that she would remember them above all else he had said. She couldn’t accept his refusal. She couldn’t accept whatever secret he thought he must hide from her, and she couldn’t grant him the privacy he so selfishly insisted upon, not when there was a life at stake, not when sitting idly by would destroy two people who had certainly been through enough to deserve a little help. If Solas would not come to her because she asked, then she would have to find a way to make him, and while she doubted his friendship with her, and she doubted the connection she had always thought they shared, she didn’t doubt the honesty of his words, and she knew that he would not promise her something he did not mean. She could not find him to make him help, not on her own, and not with all the spies in Vivienne’s network, but she could force him to come to her. If Solas would always protect her, she knew she would have to put herself in danger to draw him out.

  
Autumn could think of no place more dangerous for her to be than Weisshaupt.


	26. Sorry is a Poor Thing to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zevran runs into trouble and Cullen finds the note.

The Gnawed Noble was fairly crowded as Zevran settled into a corner, tucked out of the way from the steady flow of patrons and servers laden with overpriced mead. Lessa eased herself into the booth across from him, moving with a fluid grace that never seemed to falter. Utharevas hopped from her shoulder to the table, strutting to the far end in order to perch near a small tray of peanuts, preening his wings in silence as Lessa opened the dusty tome she had hauled out of the palace library and began reading.

“Do you ever tire of reading?” he drawled, leaning back against the side of the booth and stretching. He absently drummed the tabletop with his fingertips as he searched the crowd, seeing if he could spot anything – or anyone – that would prove more interesting than another night of watching Lessa snort disdainfully at whatever text was on the page.

She arched an eyebrow at him, a silent admonishment he pretended not to notice. “Do you ever tire of following?”

“Following? I believe I led us here, did I not?” he scoffed. A pretty brunette with the largest breasts he had ever seen sauntered past their table. She tossed her hair and smiled coquettishly at one of the guards across the room, batting her eyes in a way that she must have felt was enticing, but really just made her look like she was facing the wrong way during a sandstorm.

“Well,” Lessa pointedly turned a page in her book, “you followed that shem around during the blight, and now you follow orders from her shem husband. I see no reason why, other than you must enjoy following.” her smile was deceptively sweet, but he knew better. She was trying to get him to argue with her, because apparently the only thing she enjoyed more than reading was inducing endless amounts of pique from those she traveled with.

“Perhaps you are right.” He agreed, casually ignoring the bait and popping one of the peanuts into his mouth. She pouted at him almost playfully and he laughed, enjoying the expression on her far more than he would have guessed. He reached out and brushed his thumb across her lower lip and she wrinkled her nose at him. “I would be honored to follow YOU, were you to lead me to a cozy bed.” he winked at her, giving her his best bedroom eyes and charming smile, which generally never failed to entice whomever he had set his sights on.

She huffed at him, although she was smirking as she turned her eyes back to the pages before her. “Keep dreaming, lover boy. I may lead you yet, but a _cozy bed_ would not be our destination.”

“As you wish.” He shrugged, turning his gaze back to the crowd, not letting the rejection affect him beyond pointing his attention towards finding a more receptive target. The buxom brunette was now seated in the guardsman’s lap, and he silently debated whether it was worth the inevitable brawl to try and steal her away for an evening’s fun.

Utharevas let out an irritated hiss as the tavern door swung open, the summery wind outside rushing inward and sending the candles flickering as a tall figure crowded into the doorway. He tossed back the hood of a heavy cloak, his eyes shifting around restlessly, a slight twinge pulsing in the muscles around his temple like a nervous tick Zevran caught flashes of silver and blue underneath the cloak as he stomped his way to the bar, and the trappings of warden armor were very easy for him to recognize after the time spent traveling with the Ferelden pair all those years ago. The newcomer sat on a stool and motioned for a drink, hunching his shoulders and glaring at the wood in front of him in an obvious bid to avoid conversation.

Unfortunately for them all, drunken Fereldens rarely picked up on such social cues.

“Is that…is that warden armor?” a rotund man with sandy blonde hair sidled up next to him, blinking as he hiccupped softly.

The warden’s face split into a sneer that should have sent any sensible person running, the jagged scar across his face twisting to create a rather sinister expression. “None of your concern.” He growled.

“Oh, I didn’t mean nothing by it.” The blonde man beamed. “Our very own king and queen is wardens. I’m right proud to have such fierce warriors at the helm o’ this here ship. Er, country.” He planted his elbows onto the bar, leaning back against it to keep from swaying back and forth.

The bartender slid a mug of ale across the counter towards the warden, who lifted it to his lips and attempted to ignore the overly friendly patron.

The patron, again, did not seem to notice. “Say, did you ever meet ol’ king Alistair? He’s a warden, y’know.” he stated, rather unnecessarily as he had already established the fact previously. “I seen him once, during a parade. He’s grand, innit he?”

“Sure, whatever.” The warden replied, the muscles along his jaw twitching in tandem with the tick at his temple. Zevran shared a glance with Lessa, who was watching the exchange very keenly. She had slipped one of her hands down towards her staff, her long fingers resting lightly over the smooth grip. He shifted in his seat, the muscles along his spine tensing as he straightened his posture, the nerves in his hands tingling in alert anticipation. A mug of ale was deposited on the table in front of him and he sipped at it, surreptitiously keeping his eyes glued on the warden.

“And the queen! Have you ever met the queen? She’s the purdiest warden I ever seen…er, not that you aren’t lovely, old buddy!” the patron slapped the warden on the back, causing him to slosh his drink slightly. He set his mug down heavily in the amber puddles now scattered across the countertop, inhaling sharply as he turned to face the oblivious drunk.

The warden growled like a mongrel cornered in a back alley. “Lovely? You think it’s lovely to run away from your kingdom? To disappear and abandon the order you’re supposed to belong to?” The scar on his face was turning an ugly purple as he flushed with anger.

“Hey now, ser…I’ll have you know that lady’s a hero. She’d never ‘bandon nothin! Her and king Alistair are heroes!” the blonde man rejoined. His words were bold, but he took a step back from the warden as he spoke, clearly regretting his choice for conversation partner at this point.

“Heroes? Where are your heroes now?” the warden stood, bearing down on the man.

“I…I…I don’t want no trouble.” The blonde stammered, sobering up in an instant. The flush of drunkenness drained out of him as he went as white as the dead, pale moon, trembling under the intense scrutiny of the wild eyed warrior before him. Zevran took note of the massive broadsword strapped to the warden’s back and hoped the blonde had not already antagonized him too much for this to all blow over.

“Trouble?” the warden straightened, glaring around at the now silent bar, everyone present watching the overwrought moment unfold with wide eyes and stilled tongues. “Tell me, does Ferelden know where its rulers are? Are you so sure your heroes would be here to protect you from the worst that could happen? How can you be sure they have not abandoned you in a time of need?”

“What do you mean?” the bartender asked evenly, squinting in suspicion at the belligerent man.

“If trouble comes while they are away, who will protect your people? Do you even know where they have gone? Do you even know what danger lurks on the horizon?” the warden shouted. Some of the people in the bar gasped, and someone in the back whimpered slightly in fear. The tension in the room was almost a living, breathing creature, stalking amongst them and making the hair on the back of Zevran’s neck prickle in alarm.

Deciding that he had heard quite enough, Zevran stood, smoothly moving into position between the terrified drunk and the warden. “I’m sure whatever task our wise leaders have undertaken is an honorable one, no?” he smiled amiably at the others in the room, some of whom were nodding in agreement. “Come, friend, let me buy you a drink to replace the one this man so rudely interrupted.”

The warden glared at him. “Secrets are rarely honorable, _elf_. What tasks a king hides from his people are the ones which his people would not approve.” He swept his gaze around the room again. “Mark my words, you’ll be swallowed in darkness soon enough, and it will be because your precious leaders failed to do what was necessary to protect you.”

He spat on the ground and stalked out of the bar, pushing one hapless man aside and sending him crashing into a table, overturning it with a loud clattering of wood and tankards. The pretty brunette from across the room screamed, and it echoed in the resounding silence as they watched him go.

Zevran eased back into his seat as the murmuring inside the tavern returned, people talking in slightly hushed tones over what they had just witnessed. He caught snippets of the conversation drifting about, and no fewer than ten people began speculating that another blight must be on the horizon. By daybreak the entire town would be drowning in the rumor, and the tension would extend far beyond the walls of the shaken tavern.

“This is ludicrous.” He mumbled to Lessa. “How could they think one angry warden portends another blight?”

“One angry warden minus two very pleasant ones can equal a very nervous city, my friend.” She said.

The brunette started wailing that the king and queen had abandoned them while the guard tried to console her by rubbing steadily lower circles across her backside.

Zevran grimaced, draining the rest of his ale without tasting it. “Come, let us report this to Eamon. I have a feeling this is not the last we will see of our happy new friend.” He stood, waiting for Lessa to gather her things and collect Utharevas before they strode out side by side.

 

***

 

_Cullen,_  
_By the time you start reading this I will already be gone._  
(there are several blots of ink here where the quill was pressed to the page, then lifted again without making a mark) _I’m watching you sleep in our bed and you look so peaceful and happy, it’s almost enough to keep me here. You smirk even in your sleep, you know? I can hardly stand to see it even now without pouncing on you and drowning you in kisses. You are so wonderful, so perfect, that it’s almost enough to make me forget the rest of the world exists, to pretend it’s out of my hands just so I could curl up next to you again, slip under the covers where my heart wishes to be. I know if you were awake you’d never let me go, and I love you all the more for it. If there were any other option I would take it, but I think this is the only way. I’m sorry that I couldn’t wake you to say goodbye, and I know this letter won’t be close to enough to explain my absence, but it is all that I can give you for now, even though it’s so much less than you deserve._  
_I know the first thing you are going to ask is why. Why I left. Why I hid it from you. Why I didn’t trust you enough to tell you. I had to leave because I have to find Solas. I was always afraid it would come down to this, but you have to believe me when I say I never thought it would make me do this to you, I never thought that this would be the way things happened._  
_I know it’s going to break your heart to hear it, but I can’t tell you anything else. I can’t give you any more explanation than that. I know keeping secrets is against our rules, but if that’s what I have to do so I don’t have to lie to you, then that’s what I’m going to do. I can’t tell you where I’m going. I can’t even promise to be safe. I won’t come back until I can save Anders, I won’t have his blood on my hands, and I won’t let him die on my watch._  
_I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me, just know that I’ll love you anyways. Even if you hate me, I’ll still keep loving you, because it’s the only thing I could ever do. You deserve so much more than I could ever give you, and I know sorry is a poor thing to say when I’m about to disappoint you so terribly, but sorry is all I have._  
_Keep our Inquisition together for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can._  
_Love Always,_  
_Autumn_

 

He read the letter over again, and again, and then again until his eyes blurred over with the tears he tried to blink away. He folded the paper back up carefully, his hands shaking as he set it on the table and his mind scrambled to find some purchase, clutching at the vain hope that this was all just another nightmare. It was the first time he could remember in a long while that he actually hoped for the demons of his past to come out of the walls again, to prove to him that this was all in his head and that his wife had not truly snuck out in the middle of the night with nothing but a note left in her wake. Maker’s breath, the sheets on the bed still smelled like her, she couldn’t possibly be _gone_.

When the first golden fingers of morning started stretching over the horizon Cullen knew he was not dreaming, and the ache in his chest threatened to tear him apart. Sucking in a deep breath that didn’t feel like it even reached his lungs he stood, grabbing his pants and yanking them on before hurriedly padding down the stairs to the door. He popped his head out and Bryce gave him a slightly curious glance, which quickly switched to alarm as he took in what Cullen could only assume was a very dour expression plastered on his face.

“Get everyone in the war room. _Now_.” He barked. Bryce gave a hasty salute, but Cullen was already turning away, slamming the door behind him before returning to the room to dress as quickly as possible. He didn’t bother with full armor, nor did he do more than a cursory pass over his wild curls. His head was too fogged with anger, betrayal, and above all else worry, for him to care about how he would look as he stalked down the long flights of stairs. His soldiers gave him fretful looks as he passed them, but for the moment he didn’t care about that either. Let them talk, let them worry. This was certainly the kind of situation that warranted such reactions.

He was the first one into the war room and he laid the note on the table in front of him, smoothing it out before pressing his palms flat against the wood and leaning over as he read it again. He stopped when he felt the hot moisture build behind his eyes once more, settling for glaring at the slightly crinkled page without seeing what was on it, the mere knowledge of what it represented enough to fuel his loathing for it. The door swung open and the clamor of booted feet in the hallway rushed into the room, Vivienne leading the group as the rest of the inner circle filed in. They met his seething glare with curious silence, and Cullen knew he would need to be the first to speak.

“Have none of you seen the Inquisitor this morning?” he spoke through clenched teeth in an effort to keep from screaming. Part of his mind knew it was not their fault, that they could not shoulder the blame of her actions, but in his anger he could only lash out at what was in front of him, and in the moment that was a group of people responsible for protecting the Inquisition that had somehow let a single woman slip past them completely unnoticed.

“ _Should_ we have seen her this morning?” Dorian asked, his brow furrowed as he frowned at Cullen. He gestured towards the note on the table in lieu of answering.

Vivienne quickly snatched it up, reading it with a steadily souring expression. She passed it along to the next person after she had finished, shaking her head. “Of all the idiot plans the dear girl is capable of, _this_ one surely rises above the rest in its stupidity.”

“I find it hard to believe that we let someone leave unnoticed during a time when we were supposed to have increased security measures.” Cullen snapped as the letter made its way around to everyone present. Vivienne raised a brow at him, but otherwise maintained a discontent silence.

“Yeah, security she had intimate knowledge of. You think it wouldn’t be hard for her to sneak past her own damn patrols?” Bull said. “She _does_ know how to be sneaky when she wants to.”

“Don’t blame us for this, Curly.” Varric said softly, cutting right to the heart of his mood. “This is all on her. Andraste love her, but this was a bad idea.”

Cullen let himself deflate somewhat, his posture sagging as he exhaled a breath slanted with too many raw emotions. “What in the Void happened in the fade yesterday?”

“She didn’t say, wanted to wait until today to talk about anything.” Varric answered sadly, his gaze on the ground. Cullen could see the guilt resting heavily on his conscience like a physical weight pressed to his shoulders.

“Weren’t you there with her?” he asked.

“We were, but the Nightmare from Adamant appeared and trapped us all in separate nightmares.” Cassandra said flatly. “She spoke to Solas in hers, but beyond that we do not know what she experienced.” Cullen saw the pain cross over the faces of those who had gone, and he cursed himself a thousand times over for not forcing her to talk to him last night as his instincts had dictated.

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself desperately. “I should have known better, should have asked her more…” his voice was thick and he swallowed back some of the anguish Cullen saw behind his eyes.

Bull placed a hand on his lover’s shoulder, his eye regarding him with sad kindness. “Not your fault, Kadan.”

Cullen watched the exchange and tried to blink back the tears it brought to his eyes. He could still feel the warmth of Autumn’s body if he closed his eyes, could still recall exactly what she had looked like as they drifted off to sleep. “We have to find her.” He choked out.

“I’ll send scouts out immediately to see if they can pick up her trail.” Vivienne said.

“Which she likely anticipated.” Bull drawled.

Dorian gave the large man a shocked guffaw. “So what, we just sit around while she runs off and gets herself killed?”

Sera slammed a fist against the table. “Fuckballs to that!”

“I will go after her.” Cassandra said with authority, squaring her shoulders and stepping forward.

Cullen leaned against the table again. “ _I'm_ going after her.” He snapped.

“We’re on the verge of war with the wardens.” Josephine interjected. “If both you _and_ the Inquisitor are seen to be missing our people would panic.”

He glowered at her. “She’s my _wife_.”

Vivienne cleared her throat and pinned him with a glance designed to silence him. “She is also your Inquisitor, and I believe she requested you hold her Inquisition together while she was away.”

“You are the only one that can keep Justice asleep.” Cole murmured.

Varric gave him an apologetic shrug. “The Kid has a point.”

Cullen clenched the edge of the table, his knuckles growing white as the wood grain bit into his palms. “Damn her, she knew that. She knew it, and still she…” he trailed off, unable to finish the thought because it led down a truly dark path. Images flashed through his head, memories of the previous night, and each one was like a new knife stuck through his heart, a new sharp pain that he could hardly bear. She had known from the minute she walked into the room what she was going to do, and she said _nothing_.

“I will find her and bring her back.” Cassandra promised, slicing her hand through the air as though this settled the matter, as though this weren’t the most impossible situation Autumn had ever put them in.

Varric cleared his throat loudly. “You mean _we_. _We_  will find her and bring her back.”

Cassandra scowled down at him. “No, I’m going alone. I can move faster this way, and it leaves enough of you here to handle emergencies that could arise in my absence.”

“No offense, but you heading out completely alone is just as bad as Hummingbird doing it.” Varric retorted.

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and tracking her down.” She snapped.

Varric took a step towards her, his voice actually rising a fraction in anger. “Fuck that, I’m not letting you march out there alone.”

“I don’t need your misguided chivalry!” she crossed her arms over her chest imposingly.

Varric didn’t back down in the least. “I don’t care what you need, I’m going with you whether you like it or not!” he jabbed a finger towards her.

Cassandra looked at his finger, utterly affronted. “You can’t just tell me-“

Cullen smashed his fist against the table, shaking the markers so that they made little metallic clinks against the wood. “ _ENOUGH!_ ” he roared. The room fell silent as they all turned their attention towards him. “Cassandra, take Varric.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to protest, forestalling the impending argument. “I’m not sending anybody after her without backup, especially since she won’t want to come back quietly once she’s found.” He concluded.

Bull’s jaw fell open in shock. “You can’t honestly expect them to _fight_ her?”

“Since I cannot go myself, I expect them to do whatever it takes to bring her back safely.” He replied ominously.

Dorian shared a worried glance with Bull before turning to Cole. “Cole, do you know where she went? Can you hear her?”

Cole tilted his head to the side, thinking for a moment before shaking his head with a forlorn expression settling over his face. “All I see is a bright light in the darkness, moving further and further away. She doesn’t want me to see, so I can’t.”

Sera rolled her eyes. “Wish she’d teach the rest of us that trick, yeah?” she muttered under her breath.

Vivienne tapped a manicured finger against her cheek thoughtfully. “Perhaps she is using the mark?”

“If she’s using that then she could be broadcasting her position to anyone savvy enough to track the magic.” Dorian said.

Bull nodded in agreement. “If she’s looking for Solas she’s probably doing that on purpose.”

Vivienne’s eyes widened as she frowned. “She can’t be naïve enough to think Solas is the only one capable of looking for such magic.”

“Can _we_ track her that way?” Varric asked.

Dorian scrubbed his hand across his face irritably. “I could possibly devise _something_ , given time…”

“Which we do not have.” Cassandra finished for him.

Cullen leaned heavily against the table, staring at the maps as though willing a marker with her name on it to appear and show them where she had gone. She’d broken all the rules in doing this. Not just those of common sense, not just those of valid tactics, but the more personal rules they held themselves to, the unspoken rules between her and her friends. In one stupid decision she had risked everything, put up a wall between herself and everyone that loved her, and all for what? What made whatever she had to do so secretive she couldn’t ask for help? Why couldn’t she trust any of them? She had to know they would stand by her no matter what. Had he failed so spectacularly to impart that to her? Did she believe his love did not extend to supporting her in whatever she needed to do?

“Go. Bring her back.” He ordered, not looking up at them for fear his despair would be too plain in his eyes.

“You got it Curly, one stubborn rogue coming right up.” Varric answered, and he heard the pair march out of the room to prepare for their journey.

Cullen felt like his heart was going with them, and it was only years of surviving horrors and rigid discipline that he kept his feet firmly rooted in their spot.


	27. He had Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair arrives at Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late guys. I am going to try and aim to at least have a chapter out every Sunday, but I can't really make any promises until after this novella is done. :p  
> Anyways, enjoy some fluff and some smut to make up for all the horror I am putting you through lately.

The sun poured down on the mountainside making the snow glow as though it was lit from within. Alistair squinted as he looked out into the small valley below, his feet finally making contact with the paved stones of the road leading into Skyhold. It was bigger than he had thought, but he could barely focus enough to notice details like that. The only thing he could think of was that somewhere in the granite walls before him was the woman whom he missed more than anything he had ever missed before. He closed his eyes and reached out with his senses, using the taint crawling in his blood to see if he could detect her yet. Generally he tried as hard as he could to ignore his warden abilities, their use a dark reminder of his looming mortality and doomed fate, but in this instance using them would mean that he really was closer to her, and when he picked up on the sensation of another warden in the area his heart skipped several beats. It was _her_ , he knew it with every fiber of his being, and they were finally near enough to be able to feel each other. He wondered if she already knew he was here, if she could feel him coming to her and had the same rush of excitement. A gloomy part of his mind worried that perhaps she hadn’t missed him as much as he had missed her, perhaps she had enjoyed her long years away and would only grow tired of him now that he had returned. She was always so much better than he was, and he could never really figure out what it was she saw in him, and maybe all the time away had taught her that she didn’t need him, or didn’t want him.

Isabela clapped him on the shoulder as she shuffled past him, giving him a knowing grin. “Come on, before all that pent up energy melts the snow on these blasted peaks.”

He laughed breathlessly, shaking his head as he trailed after her and dispelling the grim anxieties that always plagued him. She would _always_ come back to him. Even if that wasn’t technically the case this time, and it was him coming back to her, the sentiment still remained. She was his wife, his queen, and all the best parts of his life, and he wouldn’t let fear cast a shadow over this reunion. His heart felt like it was beating three times its normal rate, and had relocated itself to somewhere between his ears so that it drummed against the sides of his skull. He could hardly think beyond the realization that they were _here_ , that she was _here_ , and that they were actually in the same place at the same time again. It had been far, far too long.

Somehow his feet kept moving, although he couldn’t recall actually telling them to, and they made it to the massive gateway that loomed over their heads while the guards questioned who they were. Evangeline flashed the seal of the Divine to them, which they had apparently been told to expect at some point or another, and after a cursory inspection they gave prim salutes and passed them through, pointing the way towards where they were to go. It was a blessing that the others still had their wits about them, because Alistair wouldn’t have been able to find his way if his life depended on it. For all the good they did him the words from the guards could have been coming from a thousand miles away. Through a tunnel. Underwater. He followed those that still had their cognitive resources and trusted that they would lead him to wherever it was they needed to be, that they would lead him to her.

The grins on his traveling companion’s faces grew as they walked up the stone steps towards the largest building in the center of the fortress. Alistair could hear the blood in his veins rushing through his body like he was made from a waterfall, and he felt unsteady enough that he might topple over the edge like one if he wasn’t careful. He felt detached from the moment, and he was positive he could have rolled down every last step he had climbed and not feel a thing if he was so inclined.

The massive room they walked into was lit with torches along the walls, and bundles of candles were spread out on the tables. Massive stained glass windows in the very back sent a myriad of colors cascading through the room, and it was in their rainbow spotlight that he finally saw her.

She was standing with a tall blonde man that Alistair almost immediately forgot was there, her hand on his arm as she spoke. The man was vaguely familiar, but Alistair couldn’t tear his eyes away from her long enough to identify him. He watched her lips move, completely enraptured by the way they formed whatever words she spoke. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid, strands falling out to frame her face, a style she often favored when they were still just wardens, or on days she didn’t have to entertain anyone at court. She reached up and brushed one of them out of the way of her face, and Alistair’s eyes watched the movement like he had never seen a hand before. He was frozen to the spot, his feet as good as cemented to the stonework beneath them while his heart took off across the room without him, flying over their heads and doing somersaults that made his head spin.

The excited barking from across the great hall finally snapped him out of it, shaking loose whatever force bound him in that frozen fragment of time, loosing his moorings like a ship tossed to sea. He put one foot in front of the other, vaguely aware of the two mabari bounding towards him enthusiastically. At another time he might have knelt to meet them, might have lavished attention on the dogs that were like children to them, but this time they would have to wait their turn.

She looked over to him as his feet started moving faster, one after the other until he was running across the hallway. Her eyes met his and he was captured in their emerald beauty, swallowed and locked away in a prison he would have happily spent the rest of his life in. The men standing with her looked taken aback, but Alistair registered that only in the back of his mind, all his focus on the perfect, wonderful, elegant, graceful…and yes, _short_ , woman ahead of him.

He collided with her, sweeping her up in an embrace that he knew was crushing the air out of her lungs, but he could not bring himself to hold her any less tightly. He spun her in a circle, her scent and feel hitting him all at once, and he sobbed without any sense of shame as he pressed his lips to hers. She melted in his arms, molding to him with a sigh that lit every last one of his nerves on fire. Maker, she tasted like the blessed glory promised to the dying, and Alistair didn’t know if he should sing out in thanks for his endless luck or get on his knees and apologize for sullying such an absolutely divine being. He was not worthy of her, of this moment, but he would not give it up for all the kingdoms in the world nor all the riches they held. She was here in his arms and it was worth more than any salvation, worth the cost of any damnation, and he would have sacrificed himself a thousand times just to know this kind of joy forever.

Then she laughed, and Alistair knew for certain he had come _home_. He was a thousand miles away from his bed and his things, but _this_ was where he belonged. Wherever that musical giggle sounded out was where he was meant to be, and he was _never_ going to let anything come between them again. He pulled back, cupping her face and looking into her eyes as Xander and Indra ran highly excited circles around them, yipping gleefully. He could feel the tears on her face and he rubbed his thumbs across her impossibly soft cheekbones, feeling her beneath his palms and hardly believing just how _real_ she felt. She laughed again and beamed at him, glowing with love that made all of the light in the world seem dim.

“You’re here!” she said.

He nodded, completely speechless. He had no words to describe this moment. In fact, he was positive the entire lexicon of every language ever invented had no words to describe the happiness bursting inside him like a thousand brilliant explosions. So, for possibly the first time in his entire life, Alistair said nothing. Instead he leaned down, wrapping his arms around her waist and hefting her into the air, tossing her over his shoulder like the prize she was. She squealed, and he could feel the mirth shake her as her stomach pressed against him.

“Alistair!”

“Point the way to our room.” He ordered. She giggled again, doing her best to try and wiggle out of his grasp. He started walking towards a random door, holding tight to her thigh. “Point the way, or so help me, I will just use the first room we come across.”

She laughed harder, her joy overflowing and filling the room around him. He heard the others in the hall joining in, clearly enjoying his reaction, but this time he didn’t _care_. He would not waste time blushing and stammering. Alistair Theirin, king of Ferelden, had waited long _enough_ , and the trappings of propriety would not stand in his way today.

“First door to your left!” she managed, and he walked in that direction.

Not once did she stop laughing as she guided him through the unfamiliar hallways, and Alistair had so missed that melody in his life.

 

*** 

 

Cullen laughed as he watched the king carry away the queen like they were two overenthusiastic teenagers, her giggles echoing down the hallway until the door finally closed off the sound. It was a heartwarming sight, and he tried his best not to let it make him bitter, but the acrid taste of jealousy coated his tongue like a dissolving potion. He _was_ happy for them, truly and deeply happy that after all this time they had been reunited, but the fact that his own wife was out there doing Maker knew what had left a wound across his heart that made his smile feel strained.

He wasn’t given much time to reflect on it, however, as he was nearly knocked down by a pair of bodies barreling into him, four arms twisting around him before he knew what was happening. His breath rushed out with a slight grunt and he glanced down to see Merrill and Isabela locked onto him, squeezing him for all he was worth. He smiled, this time far more genuinely, resting his hands on their backs and returning the affection. Dorian laughed behind him, muttering something to Cole that sounded decidedly sarcastic, but Cullen didn’t have the mobility to turn around and tell him to butt out.

“Curly! It’s been _ages_!” Isabela cried, although it was somewhat muffled by the fact that her face was pressed into his plate. He looked up as he flushed, their exuberance slightly embarrassing, and he caught Fenris’ eye, who hovered just out of range, shuffling his feet slightly. He spared Cullen a small, almost bashful smile, and Cullen felt a rush of fondness that drove the pangs of jealousy to the back of his mind.

“Fen, get in here!” he cried, opening his arms. The girls immediately made room and they all shared what was perhaps the fiercest, most overdue group hug in the history of Thedas. Having his old friends back in his arms was a form of beautiful salvation, the last of the anger in his heart over Kirkwall melting as he realized they harbored no resentment towards how he treated them when last they had spoken. Truer friends than he had deserved, they had understood where his anger had come from, and allowed him the space to behave like the boorish fool he was, waiting all the while to accept him back when he was ready. He didn’t know how he had gone so long without them, but he could thank the Maker that they were here for him now.

Eventually they all let go and Cullen took a step back to look at them. “Maker’s breath, have any of you even aged a day?” he asked.

“They told me I got taller. I don’t think I believe them, though. What do you think?” Merrill said, standing up as straight as she could. Even so she barely rose to his shoulder, and Cullen tried valiantly to hide the smirk at her poorly hidden hope of not being the world’s smallest, most adorable blood mage.

“Certainly, you’re practically a giant now!” he told her.

She gave him a small glare. “Now you’re just making fun of me.” She reprimanded him, although her words held no heat. He smirked at her, and both Isabela AND Fenris let out small squeaks of approval.

“Oh, I have missed that _smirk_! Tell me, is that how you all struck down the magister bastard? Please tell me you _handsomed_ him to death!” Isabela gushed.

Cullen laughed. “I don’t think I can smirk anyone to death, although my wife is constantly accusing me of trying.” He resolutely ignored the pang of pain speaking of her caused him, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Fenris cleared his throat, trying his best to look like the dignified counterpoint to his wife and failing due to the slightly pink flush painting his cheeks. “It is good to see you again, Cullen.”

“You too, Fen. I’m glad you’re all here safe.” He replied with a nod.

“Did you ever doubt us?” Isabela tossed her hair over her shoulder and huffed. “Not that it was smooth sailing the _whole_ way, but there isn’t much I can’t – ”

A small yelp of shock came from behind them and they all turned to stare at the dark haired mage that it came from curiously. His eyes were wide and his jaw was hanging open, staring behind them all where Dorian and Cole had been standing.

“Is that…is that really you?” the man sputtered, taking a step forward shakily. Cullen turned to follow his gaze and Cole ducked behind Dorian like he was trying to hide, his face even paler than usual. He blinked at the mage owlishly, looking for all the world like a scared child. “Are you really there?” the mage repeated.

“Do you really remember?” Cole asked him uncertainly. Cullen looked back to the mage, who seemed to be getting slightly choked up. The knight beside him didn’t look any less confused than the rest of them, one of her eyebrows creeping towards her dark hairline.

“Cole, of course I remember you!” the man cried, taking another step forward. That seemed to be all Cole needed to break his hesitation, and he darted from around Dorian and raced towards the mage, who opened up his arms to welcome him in a massive hug. “I can’t believe it’s really you!” Cole buried himself in the man’s chest, his smile the widest Cullen had ever seen it and actual, unabashed laughter tumbling out of him.

“Rhys, do you know him?” the woman finally asked, clearly perplexed.

Rhys turned to her, grinning from ear to ear. “Yes, and so do you. Think about it, you should remember Cole. The boy from the spire?”

She frowned for a moment as she tried to recall, then all at once her eyes lit up with recognition and she let out a yelp not dissimilar from the one Rhys had uttered earlier. “Cole! I do remember! You helped us at Adamant!” one of her hands flew up to her cheek as she stared at him, awestruck. Then, without warning, she threw herself into their hug. Cole started laughing louder, tears shining in the corners of his eyes as he let them lavish attention onto him.

“You remember! You remember!” he said around his giggling. Dorian made a slightly strangled noise next to Cullen, and he saw the mage’s smile falter slightly. He reached over and gave him a reassuring squeeze around his forearm and was rewarded with a slightly worried expression. Cole, unperturbed by any of this, grabbed Rhys’ and the woman’s hand and led them towards Dorian and Cullen. “Dorian, Cullen, this is Rhys and Evangeline. They were my friends before I came from Therinfall. Rhys, Evangeline, this is Dorian and Cullen, they’re my friends here.” He smiled proudly. “I have lots of friends now. Autumn helped them to remember, and then Varric helped me become more real, and now no one ever forgets. I’m never alone anymore!” he babbled happily.

Rhys stepped forward and swept Dorian into a hug, which made the mage sputter in protest. “Thank you for taking care of him.” He told him, and Dorian blushed and nodded, straightening his robes awkwardly.

“Well, _someone_ had to look after him.” He replied haughtily, although Cullen could tell his was proud of Cole, and happy to be thanked for his efforts.

“He cares. He pretends not too, because he learned that hiding is safer than showing, but he forgets that we can all see it anyways.” Cole explained, and Cullen watched as Dorian turned a lovely shade of red. “Oh, sorry, I’m not supposed to say that out loud anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cole.” Dorian mumbled.

Cole gave him a smile that could have melted the heart of a despair demon. Rhys looked between the two and whooped out another loud laugh, clapping Dorian on the shoulder. “Okay, I have to buy a drink for anybody that can make Cole smile like THAT. You guys have a bar around here?”

“I used to live there!” Cole piped, still smiling broadly.

“Only because you never told anyone you didn’t have a room!” Dorian scolded him.

“He does have a habit of hiding the important bits of information, doesn’t he?” Rhys asked dryly. He linked arms with Dorian and Cole, Evangeline grabbing the boy’s other arm, and Cullen watched them all walk towards the Herald’s Rest.

“So…” Merrill began, giving Cullen a wide-eyed, pouty look. “Do we get to meet your wife?”

By the expressions on their faces he knew his own had just fallen. He tried to smile, but his heart wasn’t in it at the moment.

“Oh my. Come on Curly, you can tell us all about it over something strong to drink.” Isabela took his arm, and he led them towards his office where he had a bottle of Antivan brandy that would serve their purpose.

“I’m grateful you guys are here.” He told them, somewhat glumly, although he meant the sentiment sincerely.

Isabela shook her head, her dark hair swinging across her back with the motion. “You only ever had to invite us.”

It felt good to hear it, and even better that he was hearing it in person. Maybe they could keep him from crumbling under the crushing emptiness that greeted him each morning when Autumn’s side of the bed remained empty.

 

***

 

He reached down and turned the handle, nudging open the door before striding in. He shut it behind him as Indra and Xander took up positions on either side, eager to guard their master’s sanctuary. Melody was still giggling, a bright musical sound that filled his heart with so much joy he was certain any minute it would burst. The room was nearly as lavishly decorated as their quarters at home, with a big soft bed covered in richly threaded sheets occupying the most amount of space. He moved her off of his shoulder and eased her to the floor, his hands resting on her hips. She turned her eyes up at him, shining brilliantly with a happiness that he echoed in tenfold. He bent his head down and leveled his forehead against hers, still hardly able to believe she was finally here in his arms. He pressed his palms into the small of her back, tugging her close as he nuzzled her nose with his.

“Maker I’ve missed you.” He breathed, sending some of the tendrils of her hair fluttering away in the air.

Large, shimmering tears pooled beneath her eyes and trailed down the sides of her cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re finally _here_.” Her words came out half a sob, half a laugh, and she picked a hand up to swipe irritably at the moisture on her face.

He brought his arm up so that he could cup the back of her head, twining his fingers through hair that was softer than the finest silks. “I’m never leaving your side again.” He vowed, and as Andraste as his witness, he meant it. He didn’t care if he was king, he didn’t care that he was a warden, he didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything else. Wherever she went, so would he, from this moment on. Alistair was done living as half a man, a ghost wandering around in her absence. He was nothing without her, and he knew without a doubt that he was meant to follow her. They had sacrificed too many years of the happiness they thought they had earned by defeating the blight. He was not about to waste another minute of it.

He pressed his lips to hers, savoring the way she tasted as she opened up to him. His tongue caressed her almost hesitantly, as though he had forgotten how this worked after long years without practice. His instincts seemed to remember what was next, however, as his hands moved along her sides, stroking her stomach and ribs, passing over her breasts before roaming back down to start the path over again. He felt like he needed to touch every part of her a hundred times to memorize her shape all once more. Her own hands seemed equally eager, fingers sliding over his stomach and making his muscles clench in delight. She dragged her hands across his chest and upward around his neck, her fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck. He moved his kisses from her lips to trail across her jaw and down her neck, moving a millimeter at a time until he reached the collar of her shirt. He dipped his hands underneath the thin cotton near her waist and pressed his palms against the bare skin below, her stomach shifting beneath them as she inhaled sharply. The feel of her skin sent a shiver running up and down his spine, his mind reeling at the contact that lit up his nerves like a flaming arrow against the night sky.

In a movement that was far more fluid than he would have thought his shaking hands could manage, Alistair pulled her shirt up and over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He inhaled in a stuttered gasp as he took in the sight of her, creamy skin stark against the rich colors of the room around them. The way her waist curved back out into her hips, the swell of her chest as her breasts strained beneath the fabric of her breastband, the tiny navel that was little more than a dimple in the center of her stomach, all of these things were as familiar to him as air, as dear to him as life, and as missed as clouds to the wounded bird. He stood back and let his eyes devour her for a moment, reassuring himself that she was just as he had pictured her on a thousand lonely nights.

He noticed new scars, and could not help but reach out and trace his fingers over the slightly pink marks. A thin line trailing just below her right rib and curving around to her back. A small white starburst an inch above her navel. A slightly more jagged line that ran from her collarbone to her shoulder. He catalogued them all, adding them to the image of her he held so close to his heart. He observed the small, dusky spot just barely visible over the waistband of her pants. He trailed his hands down and gently pulled away the fabric revealing a mark not unlike a bruise spread across her hip, purple and mottled. He didn’t need to ask her to know it was not a bruise. He could recognize the taint for what it was, and a small swirl of dread danced around in his chest. It felt too soon to have the signs show so bluntly, too soon to have the threat of the calling already staring him down with such brazen proof.

She bit her lip, looking away from him for the first time with the shadow of doubt clouding her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked her, nonplussed over what she could possibly have to apologize for.

“For…” she gestured towards her hip and the mark, as though that explained everything. When he affixed her with a questioning glance she sighed. “I know it’s not nice to look at.”

The tender moment of doubt was too sweet to bear, and without thinking he knelt down in front of her. Making sure to meet her gaze, he leaned forward and lightly kissed the very center of the mark. He wished that the gesture truly had the power to take away all the pain he saw within her. He would give anything to express to her that there was nothing about her that she ever had to apologize for. He had no words to explain it, so he endeavored to show her in the best way that he knew how. He moved his kisses in a path along her stomach just above the line of her pants as his fingers worked at the ties. Once undone, he hooked his thumbs beneath the hem and slowly pulled them down, exposing her skin inch by glorious inch as he rained kisses on every part he could reach. He nuzzled her thigh as he went down, sliding the tip of his nose across the soft skin and enjoying the way her heat warmed his cheeks. She shuddered then, placing her hands on his shoulders and squeezing tightly to keep her balance. He could feel her knees shaking slightly next to him and he glanced up, taking a moment to worship how beautiful she looked standing mostly exposed before him. He gently removed her smalls the same as he had her pants, holding eye contact with her the entire time. The muscles at the base of his stomach clenched in anticipation at the smoldering heat he saw there, and it took a great deal of restraint not to toss her on the bed and lose himself in her immediately. He held out because he wanted to savor this, to prove to her that she was still worthy of reverence, still worthy of being looked at as though she were his entire world, because she was, she always had been, and he would make that clear tonight, and every other night he spent with her forever after.

She stepped out of her pants and he slid his hands around to cup her backside, squeezing the sculpted muscles there even as he provided her with support. He dipped his nose to her core, taking a deep breath as she shivered against him. He opened his eyes, making sure that she was watching him, making sure that she would hear him, because he wanted her to know how much he meant what he was saying.

“You are _perfect_.” He told her, and it came out as a moan, a prayer to everything that she was, a simple utterance that was worship and love and undying devotion all wrapped into three words that didn’t mean nearly as much as he wanted them to. He tilted his head and slid his tongue into her, opening her gently as he moved across her sweet flesh. She whined, a high pitch sound that was just as musical as any laugh she had ever had, and he could not help the divine wave of pleasure that washed through him knowing he was the cause. He let his nose rub against her sensitive bundle of nerves as he delved deeper, her fingers digging into his shoulders sharply as he tasted her. He had remembered how she tasted, even after all this time, but memory never did the experience justice, and he was lost in the flavor that was so uniquely her that he could never get enough of it. As he moved more insistently her panting breaths became helpless moans that stirred his blood in his veins. He moved one of his hands to her front and slid his fingers into her, moving in rhythm with his tongue as she cried out in bliss. It was only a moment longer before she came undone, crying his name out into the room while his entire body reacted to it, as though it were an incantation summoning him from the place his heart had slumbered since she had left.

He extricated himself from her to stand and she all but pounced on him, swallowing his lips in fevered kisses that ripped the air from his lungs. He reached around and unhooked her breastband while her own hands tore away at his clothes. When he finally pressed against her, unfettered by any barriers, skin to skin at last, they both seemed to pause to take in the sensation, reveling in the way their hearts beat together and their skin seemed to line up like they were made for each other.

“I missed you.” She whispered, half a sob and half a prayer.

“I’m here now.” He reassured her, clutching her tightly against his chest.

“You’re here now.” She repeated.

Gently he moved them backwards toward the bed and she allowed him to guide her, staying pressed safely within his arms like she was afraid he might disappear at any moment. She released him only to move herself on top of the mattress, laying down and opening even as he crawled to situate himself above her. He settled into her arms once more, his arousal pressing against her entrance. She was warm and real and he was overcome with a sudden rush of emotions, all his dreams coming to life so suddenly his head didn’t quite know how to process it. He closed his eyes and let his body calm down, feeling her against him and reminding him that her love was not a dream, that her life was very real and intertwined with his in a way he could never explain, and if he was honest never wanted to. As he eased inside her, as slowly as he could, savoring ever stretch of muscle and ever tight inch of heat, she cried out and tossed her head back. He sank in as far as he could go and lay panting on top of her, wholly lost in how amazing it felt. It was as though after all this time he was finally complete, finally encased in the one place he would always belong. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper, and they both groaned in response. He buried his head into the crook of her neck, the scent of her skin flavoring every bit of the breath he took. He could feel himself shaking, but couldn’t bring himself to move yet, could not bring himself to interrupt the perfection of the moment as they became one.

“Maker, I love you so much.” He murmured into her ear.

She rolled her hips in response and he groaned again, her own moan meeting his and carrying through the small chamber. He took a deep breath and moved back before thrusting in, keeping his pace achingly slow. He repeated the motion, again and again, and she shuddered with every shift, a breathy sigh ghosting her lips and dancing across his chest. She gasped his name, an urgent prayer meant only for him, and every time she took a breath it was like her life filled him, completing him by repairing all the cracks to his soul. He kissed her, still moving in and out of her slowly, and her lips were demanding as they welcomed his, her hands moving across the planes of his back to pull him closer. Closer and closer, he felt as though he could never be close enough to her, even wrapped in her legs and sinking in as deeply as he could go he still felt like he wanted to hold her tighter, to press together until there was nothing left between them and they truly became one being forever.

She rocked her hips again, her impatience showing as a fine sheen of sweat built on both their brows. He obediently increased his pace, driving into her with more assertion so that his thrusts matched the throb of his heartbeat. Her pants were heavy against his ear as her fingers dug into his back.

“Maker, Alistair, I love you.” She exalted, arching her back into him as she rode out waves created by their fervor.

He kissed her again, stealing her words and swallowing her cries as he moved faster again, pounding into her with the urgency he had felt the minute he sensed her outside of Skyhold, letting go of his inhibitions and his thoughts, letting go of the last vestiges of restraint so that the carnal instinct of his passion for her could take over. He could feel their sweat mingling together wherever their skin touched, could smell the distinctive scent that they made together that was like nothing else in the world. Her breathing was labored and came in little mewling gasps against him, his own breath dense and wrought with emotion.

After a thousand lonely nights, a million minutes of missing her and dreaming of her and calling her name at the tail end of a nightmare only to receive the silent response of an empty bed, after all of that Alistair finally found his happiness again, and he cried out her name while he filler her. They came apart together, finishing with blinding happiness that sent them both spinning over the edge into madness, but it was the best kind of insanity, the only kind of insanity that he ever wanted to experience, and her name was the prayer that always brought him back.

When her breathing was even and her voice had returned she placed a tender kiss against the base of his neck. “I’m never leaving you again.” She promised, her lips tattooing the vow in an invisible trail across his skin.

“ _Never_.” He agreed vehemently. He pulled out of her and shifted to the side, carefully keeping her wrapped up in his arms as though afraid she might flee if he let go too soon. She smiled at him, her eyes heavy lidded and filled with deep contentment after her long unattended thirst had finally been sated.

He settled next to her and cradled her, enjoying the comfort of his wife sharing the same bed for the first time in years. There were still many things to do, a hundred horrors that would await them as soon as they stepped out those doors again, but in this moment he would ignore them. Everything in this moment was perfect, and he would savor it just as he always savored the time he got with her. They could save the world in an hour. Right now they were saving each other, and her salvation was more important to him than anything else could ever be.


	28. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair is brought up to speed and a tiny mage gives a tired mage a little more hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is a slightly longer chapter than normal. I did my best, but I am on a ton of cold medicine from a summer cold, so if I repeat myself and/or edited like a drunken monkey I apologize XD Hopefully it's still coherent.

Cullen willfully tried to ignore the headache that was rattling around inside his beleaguered skull. He had forgotten just how much the great Pirate Queen of Kirkwall liked to drink, and despite his reticence to actually drink himself into oblivion, she was very persuasive when she wanted to be. He had lost count of how much he had imbibed somewhere after the bottle of brandy had been emptied, but his strangely empty pockets told him he’d had enough to lose all his money to the woman at some point during the night. They’d talked of old times and times yet to come while they played cards, and he had to admit it had done his spirits a great deal of good. It was nice to have a few people to talk to who didn’t know Autumn, and therefore couldn’t miss her like the rest of them, giving him a chance to forget, just for a little while, that his better half was gone.

If the way the morning sun wreaked havoc on his eyesight was any indication, however, the universe at large did not approve of his coping mechanisms. He scrubbed at his face as he moved across the battlements from his office, working his way to the war room for the early morning council. He had been surprised when the meeting had been postponed until this morning before he had learned that Bryce had stationed himself and a friend at the entrance to the hallway where Melody’s chambers were located, preventing anyone and everyone from disturbing the royal reunion. Josephine had been angry enough to spit nails over losing her opportunity to offer a formal welcome, but Bryce had very eloquently made the point that a married couple that hadn’t seen each other in years would have very little interest in fanfare at the moment. Josephine had finally relented, and the meeting had been set to take place the following day.

After that Bryce had stopped by his office to see if there was any other way he could be of service. Cullen felt bad for sending him away empty handed, as the man was obviously disappointed to have less to do in Autumn’s absence. Generally she would have left things for him to work on if she had left on a normal mission, but since she had slipped away in secrecy she had not exactly planned the way she normally would have. Bryce probably suspected something was amiss, but Cullen was not about to confirm or deny anything. They had agreed it was best that the troops at large be kept in the dark about what was going on, if for no other reason than the keep the Inquisition running in her absence. She clearly hadn’t considered the impact it would have on her people when she suddenly disappeared. The war might be over, but she was still their Herald. Losing her would devastate the entire organization almost as much as it would him. _Almost_.

He reached the war room and entered, relieved beyond words that the chamber was dimly lit with shuddered lamps and sedately glowing candles. Vivienne gave him a knowing glance as he took up his customary post, nodding to the others in greeting. Melody, Alistair, Josephine, and Evangeline had gathered for this meeting as well, which would serve to update the king on everything they weren’t able to tell him through messages before he had arrived.

Josephine glanced up at him, doing a small double take and furrowing her brows. “Feeling alright, Commander?”

“Yes, just a headache.” He gave her a smile that felt completely wooden.

“Drinking with pirates?” Alistair smirked at him, waggling his eyebrows up and down theatrically.

Cullen’s smile thawed into something more genuine and he chuckled in spite of himself. “You’d think I would have learned my lesson by now.”

“Come now Cullen, you should know us ex-chantry boys never learn a damn thing.” The king leaned across the table to whisper loudly to him, and Cullen honored the antic with a fuller laugh.

Melody rolled her eyes at the pair of them. “Now _that_ is the truest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Alistair reeled back, looking utterly affronted. “Hey!” He made a slightly pouty face at his wife and Cullen was struck with just how young he managed to look when he did.

“You said it, not her, your majesty.” Evangeline said from her spot leaning against the wall.

Alistair pulled a grimace in the Right hand’s direction while Melody giggled brightly. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close and placing a tender kiss to her temple, the pair of them beaming at each other. Cullen found himself trying to suppress the relentless ache deep in his chest. He would have to find a way to cope with his sorrow some other way, he did not wish to spend the days wracked with jealousy every time he so much as saw the royal couple sharing affection. He closed his eyes and took a small, bracing breath. His reunion would come. She _would_ be brought back safely, and then he could wrap his arms around her again, and with any luck squeeze some sense into her.

“If Autumn were here I’m sure she would accuse us both of being idiots.” He told them.

“That does sound like her.” Alistair grinned. “Although I’m sure coming from her it would be a touch more colorful.”

“How are you holding up?” Melody asked him, the concern plastered on her face another sharp jab to his carefully crafted façade of stability.

“Well, I was out drinking with pirates.” He shrugged in answer before frowning. “And apparently losing all my money to them, as well.”

“At least you kept all your clothes on this time.” Josephine offered, a smug smile spreading across her face.

Alistair pounced on the reference, nudging Melody with his elbow. “I smell a good story!”

“Maker’s breath, can we not recount that to the Ferelden royalty?” Cullen mumbled.

Ever the source of pragmatism, Vivienne cleared her throat loudly. “If you all are quite finished, I believe said rulers are here for more than a salacious social call.”

“Oh, let me guess, you’re _Orlesian_?” Alistair asked, using the term in the same tone of voice one might use to say “maggot infested darkspawn”. Melody smacked him on the chest with the back of her hand without batting an eye, and he grinned wider in response. “Right, yes, serious business time.” He cleared his throat and affected a stern expression, lowering his voice an octave. “Please, Commander, inform me of the situation, if you would be so kind.”

Cullen rolled his eyes but launched into an explanation of everything the King had missed up until this point.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe you guys are really here.” Lilly said, walking sandwiched between Fenris and Isabela through the midmorning light shining down on the courtyard. It felt good to have familiar people pressed against her, like they stood in the way of all of the terrible things out in the world, protecting her if only for a moment from the vicious reality she faced every day.

Merrill skipped ahead a couple of steps, spinning around so she could face them while she talked, walking backwards with her hands behind her back. “It’s a shame we missed Varric though. I was really looking forward to showing him how good I’ve gotten at cards.”

“Kitten, you lost to Curly. I think you could do with a bit more practice.” Isabela said.

Lilly couldn’t help but laugh in response. “Wow, Merrill. That’s pretty bad.”

“But I didn’t have to ask what the cards meant even once!” Merrill shot back, her little mouth screwed up in her best approximation of a stern frown.

Fenris chuckled, dipping his head to acknowledge her. “You did good, Mer. Don’t listen to them.”

Lilly shifted her elbow so she could drive it into his ribs playfully. “Ooh, marriage has made you go soft Fen.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but Isabela got there faster, her eyes bright as she spoke. “Going _soft_ has never been an issue for us.” Fenris groaned audibly, a faint blush painted across his cheeks.

“Oh, I got that one!” Merrill clapped her hands excitedly. “It’s because when they have sex his –“

“ _Yes_ , Merrill, I get it.” Lilly assured her, not wishing to experience what was sure to be a rather intricate dissection of the joke. They reached the door leading to the dungeons and Lilly let her steps stutter to a halt, staring at the wood and trying not to let her resentment show. “Well, this is it. Just through the door and down the stairs, you can’t miss it.” She told them cheerily, plastering a smile on her face that was as fake as cheap costume jewelry from Rivain.

Isabela cast her eyes down, pouting just enough to show sincerity. “You’re sure you won’t come with us?”

“He won’t see me.” She kicked a rock across the yard, watching it bounce off the wall and into a bush.

Fenris wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close. “You okay, Hawke?” he murmured, his chin moving against the crown of her head as he spoke.

“Not even remotely, but it’s not like that’s any different than usual.” She laughed at her joke, not feeling it in the slightest, but forcing the merriment anyways. It was her way. Push the feelings down and pretend they weren’t there. It made the days go by and the nights drag on into eternity, but it was the only way she knew how to survive during all of the shit she had to live through.

Isabela and Merrill adding their arms in with Fenris let her know that her friends weren’t fooled in the slightest, and she allowed herself to be lost in the embrace for a moment, blinking back tears and enjoying their warmth.

They broke off eventually, and Isabela rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. “Anything you want us to tell him?”

She looked up into the sky, watching a little bird dive through the air currents while singing a merry little song. There were a lot of things she wished she could say to Anders, a lot of words that sat heavy on top of her heart while they played this terrible waiting game. Some of those words were warm, others sharp like little barbs of anger that stuck to her skin and refused to be dislodged. Some of them brought tears to the corners of her eyes, and others made the back of her throat tingle because of how loud she wanted to scream them. She could bear to say none of them out loud, however, and so she shrugged and avoided Isabela’s gaze. “There’s nothing left to say.” She mumbled.

Lilly left them at the door to proceed on their own, making her way straight to the tavern. It was not yet noon, but if the emotions in her head were awake she deemed it early enough to drink.

 

***

 

Alistair shook his head, nonplussed at the tail end of the explanation. “I can’t believe it. Can the wardens even declare war on things? Aren’t we supposed to be above it all or some such nonsense?” he crossed his arms over his broad chest, his brow furrowed as he scrunched up his nose in distaste.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. You remember what happened to Soldier’s Peak.” Melody told him, and he responded with a grimace and nod.

“Precedence hardly matters. They came, our darling Inquisitor antagonized them, they promised to return under remarkably less civil circumstances.” Vivienne said as she shuffled a handful of papers stacked in front of her. Cullen had noticed that straightening things was almost a nervous tick for her, although she did it with such grace he doubted anyone thought twice about it being an emotional response.

Cullen glowered at her, irritated at her assertion that this was all somehow all Autumn’s fault. “She didn’t antagonize them, it was that warden that - ”

“Right, they antagonized her.” She flicked her wrist at him nonchalantly, waving off his protest. “My dear, the semantics are not the point. What matters is that we are about to be at war with the warden order that is still revered as heroes by a significant portion of the world.”

Alistair sighed airily. “First everyone hates us even though we’re trying to save them, then everyone loves us even though we’re doing terrible things. Why are we always on the opposite end of where we need to be?”

“ _We_ aren’t doing anything this time, love.” Melody replied pointedly.

Josephine scribbled something on her notepad with slightly more force than normal before tapping the pen against her cheek. “The wardens you met on the road trouble me. It is incredibly brazen to attack the King of Ferelden, even more so that it seems that was their goal all along.”

“Which is exactly why we wanted him _here_.” Cullen added archly, pointing to the ground beneath their feat for emphasis.

Evangeline shifted against her spot on the wall, her expression dour. “They were definitely heading to Denerim looking for him. We were lucky all of us were seasoned fighters, or we might not have gotten here at all.”

Cullen nodded his head in her direction. “Even so, I’m impressed you were able to take on so many without being overwhelmed.” She gave him a polite bow in response, a slight flush creeping across her cheeks at the praise.

“It likely had more to do with the fact that they all seemed half out of their minds than any skill on our part.” Alistair quipped.

Vivienne glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

“We tried to question one and she just…kept screaming.” Evangeline explained. She closed her eyes, and both Alistair and Evangeline seemed to shudder at the same time in remembrance of what they had seen.

Cullen placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, looking at them both intensely. “Anything else you noticed?” he tried not to jump to any conclusions, but his heart was already thundering as he pondered the similarities he was beginning to notice.

Alistair held up a hand and counted off each item he listed on his fingers. “Shifty eyes, sloppy fighting techniques. They didn’t seem to have any real fear despite the number we were cutting down, and only their commander managed to escape. The rest basically threw themselves at us until there was nothing left.” He shrugged helplessly, looking from Vivienne to Cullen curiously.

“Some of them acted as though they weren’t even aware of what was going on. Almost like fighting sleepwalkers.” Evangeline added with another shiver.

Cullen glanced over at Vivienne and they shared the same worried glance. She would remember exactly what he had. Granted, he had been fighting half mad at the time because he thought Autumn had plunged to her death, but he remembered enough to know that the wardens at the fortress had been exhibiting similar symptoms.

“What? You know something?” Alistair prompted.

Vivienne’s top lip curled slightly in a snarl of disgust. “It is not dissimilar to the symptoms of the wardens from Adamant.”

Melody’s hand flew up to rest at the base of her throat, her eyes wide. “Is it Corypheus?”

He shook his head. “No, he’s definitely dead. I was there, and there is absolutely nothing left of him.” Although privately he admitted that knowing that Corypheus was not the culprit did little to ease his fear.

“So, something else is controlling them.” Evangeline said.

“Ass weasels.” Melody mumbled under her breath, her knuckles rapping against the table in agitation.

Alistair spared her a questioning glance, but otherwise ignored her small outburst, instead turning his attention to Evangeline. “We can’t just assume something like that…can we?”

Vivienne answered for her, her dark eyes filled with frustration. “There would be no way to confirm they were being controlled unless we found the source.”

“So let’s confirm it. We have an army, let’s use it.” Cullen suggested.

Alistair was nodding his head emphatically, leaning forward. “We could add Ferelden forces to bolster that.”

Josephine made a complicated noise in the back of her throat that was somewhere between an angry growl and a squeak of surprise. She fixed Cullen with an imperious glare. “Your lack of political reasoning skills still has the capacity to astound me, Commander. We cannot send troops out without the Inquisitor here. Our people would panic.”

“As far as they know this was all planned. You give our forces too little credit, ambassador.” He admonished her, piqued at the reprimand.

“I believe you are underestimating the power of rumor and observation, Commander.” Vivienne smiled sweetly, but it did little to take the venom out of her words. “OFFICIALLY our people accept that Autumn is on a routine mission, but rumor has already stated otherwise. Your rather harried rush to summon us all to the war council the morning she disappeared started the speculation, and your continued dour mood has thrown fuel to the fire. They know something is amiss, but they have too much respect for you to question what it is. March them off to war and you risk that respect, as well as the stability of everything we have built here.”

Josephine gave the spymaster a gracious smile. “Well put, Madame de Fer.”

Alistair curled his hand into a fist and pounded it into his palm. “We could still use Ferelden troops. I could have them mobilized – ”

Josephine cut him off without even glancing up from her clipboard. “That is perhaps the only idea worse than sending our own.” She made an angry little mark and turned to meet his gaze. “Do you have any idea what it would do to your country if you were seen to be marching to war against the wardens?”

“Wardens that are obviously corrupted!” Alistair protested.

“Based on what evidence?” she countered.

Alistair’s eyes bulged for a moment. “What? Was I the only one listening earlier? Weren’t you taking notes?” he gestured angrily at the clipboard and Josephine clutched it closer to her chest almost protectively. “ _All the things we just talked about, maybe_?”

“And how much of that do the people of Ferelden know?” she retorted, her voice rising slightly in chagrin. “How much of that could we feasibly share without compromising any hope of finding the cure your darling wife has been searching for? Even if we _could_  distribute the information fast enough to justify sending out an army, we have no proof other than your word, and while that is by far enough for those of use in this room, the people at large might find it considerably more lacking.”

Alistair’s shoulders slumped as he exhaled, the fight drawing out of him slowly. “Maker’s breath, these women are ruthless.”

Cullen couldn’t help but grin at him. “Welcome to my world.”

“It’s not as though you could just march troops across Orlais, Nevarra, and Tevinter without first clearing it with each individual country anyhow.” Evangeline said sardonically. “Unless you intend to start wars with all of them as well.” She gave the men a wry smile and a small shrug, offering them her sympathy with the gesture.

“I’ll go.” Melody said quietly, staring at her hands which were now folded in her lap. The room exploded with activity, every one of them shouting arguments against that idea at once, Alistair’s sharp “no” perhaps the loudest of them all.

She crossed her arms and threw back her shoulders, putting on an expression that served to remind them all she was queen. “If somebody has to go to Weisshaupt to confirm that they are being controlled, I can do it. We can’t send troops, fine, send a rogue.” She said, her voice daring them to challenge her authority.

Thankfully Vivienne had no problems challenging anything. “I appreciate your selflessness, your majesty, but unfortunately that idea would not be wise either. Not only would the likelihood of success be very slim, but we would be putting the queen of Ferelden at risk on what is, to be frank, a long shot. You stand just as much of a chance of falling prey to whatever is controlling the wardens as the rest of them are, and you would either become another enemy we must contend with, or merely be slain for your efforts. Your death would cause just as much chaos as open war would.” She told her evenly, her demeanor one of polite refusal.

The queen’s eyes flashed dangerously, her voice lowering as she spoke. “I’m going to have to go to Weisshaupt at some point. If you think I’m going to sit here quietly while the Inquisition fights my battles, you are sorely mistaken.”

“There will be a time for that, but joining the Inquisition for a fully backed assault and galloping off by yourself are two entirely different matters.” Josephine said softly. Melody glanced at her, her gaze still full of resentful heat.

“Besides all that,” Alistair cut in, “you didn’t seriously think I was going to let you run off without me, did you?” her eyes snapped to him, and her fury melted into a contrite smile. She reached over to him and clasped his hand, nodding almost imperceptibly.

Vivienne watched and gave them both a small but genuine smile. “It should go without saying that both of you leaving is twice as abhorrent.”

“So then…we do nothing?” Cullen asked. He wanted to yell, to curse and scream and possibly flip the table. He wanted to gather all the soldiers under his command and scour the countryside until they found either Autumn or whatever it was the wardens were hiding. He was tired. So very tired of just about everything. He was tired of sitting here in Skyhold with nothing to do but plan and worry. He was tired of Autumn and her insistence on shouldering everything on her own despite literally having an organization dedicated to helping her. He was tired of a world where good people had horrible, awful things happen to them over and over again, of a universe that seemed bent on tearing lovers apart and destroying friendships. He was tired from getting up throughout the day to smite his friend in order to keep the demon inside him from unleashing devastation on them all, and he was tired of seeing what that did to him as the days dragged on and neither of them got any rest from the relentless fear of the looming possibility that it would all be for nothing in the end. Cullen was exhausted, and the idea that there was really nothing that he could do was almost more than he could bear.

“I’m afraid our options are limited until the Autumn returns.” Josephine’s voice was heavy with quiet sorrow, and he could see the apology behind her eyes, which were shining with too much moisture. The room fell silent as they all reflected on that, and Cullen kept his eyes on the table in front of him. He stared at a little flag, the tiny marker representing nothing to him at the moment, just something to settle his eyes on so he didn’t have to see the pity and frustration on the faces of those around him. It was too much at the moment, and if he had to see it, he didn’t think he would have the energy to fight off the breakdown that was building inside his head.

Vivienne cleared her throat and drew their attention once again. “Setting the issue of the wardens aside, I do believe Arcanist Dagna had some results from her early experimentation. Shall I send for her?”

Melody lit up almost immediately. “Yes! By all means. Maybe she can bring us some good news.”

Cullen laughed through his nose. “Or blow us all up.” Everyone in the room turned to stare at him, their faces somewhere between amused and horrified. “What? I’m sure she’d do it very cheerfully.”

 

***

 

The world seemed to swim in and out of focus around him. He had lost track of the passage of time a long while ago. Sometimes light came through the windows above, sometimes it didn’t. Neither occurrence seemed to affect his sleep at all, since he slept very little. He was able to nod off here and there, but sometimes when he closed his eyes he could feel Justice just under the surface of his consciousness, and the fear of what that meant kept him alert open more often than not. Other times he would catch what seemed like a few minutes of rest before Cullen would return and wake him up to perform the cleanse. All of his nerves felt rubbed raw by the constant magical energies warring over him, his own magic trying to awaken while Cullen’s abilities tried to suppress it. His disconnection from the fade had started to actually hurt rather than just be disconcerting, like a wound carved into the back of his head that they reopened every few ours.

He was exhausted, and the idea of him getting out of this alive seemed more and more ludicrous by the minute. He didn’t have the presence of mind to hope, so instead he sat perfectly still and counted the minutes that dragged by, wondering each time if this one, the one he was stuck in right now, would be his last.

“Creators, Anders…” a shaky little voice disturbed his thoughts, and with a great deal more effort than he expected he lifted his head, blinking irritably as he tried to focus on the figures standing outside the bars. Slowly they swam into view, and he realized that he recognized them with a jolt of surprise.

“Merrill? Am I…dreaming?” his voice felt thick and heavy against his tongue and he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he had anything to drink. Not that they weren’t providing food and water for him, he just rarely bothered to put forth the effort to consume any of it.

“Andraste’s tits, Anders, what have they done to you?” Isabela sounded unusually meek, and the trembling sadness he heard there hurt him almost as much as everything else. Isabela wasn’t supposed to be sad, she was supposed to be loud and brash and irreverent. Just another thing he could add to the wall of things he should be sorry for.

He swallowed again, gathering the will to form the words he wanted to say. “They’re doing what they have to. To keep him asleep.”

“The demon?” Fenris’ deep voice felt like an earthquake rolling through his head. He winced at the word, instinctively preparing for the reaction that wouldn’t come since Justice was asleep and could not react. The question wasn’t meant as an insult, Fenris had lost his vitriol towards him years ago and they had somehow held on to their tenuous friendship even after the disaster in Kirkwall, but admitting Justice was, in fact, a demon now was still something Anders found hard to do.

“Yes.” He finally answered.

Merrill picked at the hem of the glove around her wrist, her big green eyes shining with emotion. “Cullen…Cullen said he had to smite you.”

Anders sighed heavily. “Yes, Merrill.”

She fell to her knees and wrapped her fingers around the bars. “Oh, Anders, I’m so sorry.” The moisture in her eyes overflowed sending tears trailing unchecked down her cheeks. She, better than the others, would know what Anders was going through. He wasn’t sure if she had ever been hit with a full smite or cleanse before, but every mage had heard the stories, and no wage would wish it on even their worst enemies.

Isabela placed a hand on her shoulder, looking down at her with a slightly embarrassed expression. “Kitten, hush. Your tears won’t help him.”

Anders tried to smile at them, but he sensed he failed by the way they were still looking at them. “Do I really look that bad?”

Fenris shrugged, offering him a grin that was more charity than anything else. “No worse than before.” He said, and Anders had never wanted to hug him more than he did in that moment. He felt a smile creep across his own face finally, albeit a weak one that made his lips tremble. Maker, it was good to see them again.

“Well, are you going to sit there and mope forever or come give me a hug?” Isabela said finally, standing in front of the cell with her hands on her hips.

Merrill gave her a sidelong glance as she wiped at her cheeks. “He’s in a cell, Izzy.”

“So? Arms fit through bars. Look.” She waved both her hands through the gaps in between the metal, flailing about for added effect. “See?”

Anders shook his head slightly, trying to maintain his smile, but he could already feel it slipping. “No, I need to try and stay still. He stirs when I move too much.”

“Is that why you refuse her? To keep still?” Fenris said dryly, and Anders felt himself prickle with agitation.

“He wants to kill her.” He snapped. Fenris crossed his arms in front of his chest and held his gaze steady, glowering down at Anders as though he had been caught stealing rather than keeping a demon in his head from killing the woman he loved. He wanted to yell at him, but the longer he looked into his friend’s eyes the less rage he found in himself, and finally something inside of Anders broke and let go of the anger. He slumped back against the wall, feeling all of his energy rushing out of him. “He almost _did_ kill her.” He choked on the words slightly, their truth a bitter poison that had filled his veins. Fenris nodded, offering his silent understanding without any further argument.

Isabela, however, did not seem to think the explanation was sufficient. “Damnit, Anders…it isn’t fair to her.” She stomped her foot, her golden earrings jingling slightly at the sudden movement.

Fenris placed a light hand on her shoulder, shaking his head when she turned to him. “It isn’t fair to anyone. Least of all to them.” She fell silent and the group shared a moment of quiet, each one of them looking at the floor forlornly. Anders would have given anything to have had this reunion happen under different circumstances. He would have given anything to be able to go back in time and find another way to help Justice, a way that didn’t involve selling his soul only to have it corrupt his friend beyond all recognition.

“If I don’t…I mean, if they can’t do anything about it…” he trailed off, unable to finish the thought out loud when faced with their broken faces.

“No! You can’t talk like that! You have to believe that they’ll find a way. That Inquisitor person is out there right now trying to find a way, you have to have faith.” Merrill cried, her little hands shaking with her vehemence.

Anders wished he could hug her and tell her it would be okay, to agree with her and make promises he didn’t believe in. He didn’t have the strength to lie. “I don’t have the energy for faith anymore, Mer.”

“But she won’t live through it!” she wailed.

Isabela knelt next to the elf, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “Shh, Kitten-“

Merrill shrugged her off roughly, glaring at them all before continuing. “No! Nobody wants to say it but it’s true. Hawke won’t make it if he doesn’t. So no, Anders, you don’t get to give up. Not after everything you put her through, you don’t get to give up and make her say goodbye so you can be some martyr. There is no moving on from that, there won’t be any happily ever after for her if you die. You might think she’s better off without you, but _you_ don’t get to make that choice for her. So sit still if you have to, and keep her away if you have to, but you can just shut the fuck up about all of this ‘if I don’t make it’ business. It’s not gonna happen.” He stared at her, aghast at the anger that had come boiling to the surface.

And in an instant Anders felt like a fool. A fool who had spent far too much time trapped in his own head. The connections that he had made with people had always been the easiest thing to sacrifice. In the circle no one ever held on to each other, no one built up lasting friendships that it would destroy them to lose because more often than not they would be lost. Then in the wardens the people that mattered most had slowly drifted apart, and Anders was forced to rely on himself again, and at some point he had decided that was the only way to live. All those years in Kirkwall trying to avoid getting attached, and even though he had ultimately failed in that endeavor, he had still always told himself in the end Lilly and the others would move on without him. He was inconsequential in his own life, and he had just assumed everyone else saw him the same way. He knew Lilly loved him, it was as undeniable as the love he held for her, and he knew that if their situations were reversed that he would never be able to continue without her in his life. She was everything to him, but it had never occurred to him that it truly could be the same for her. But it was, it was, and as much as it hurt to realize it, as much as it made the ache in his chest that much sharper, he knew that losing this battle really would destroy her. Merrill was right. He could pretend that Lilly would be better off without him, he could hold the world at arm’s length and pretend that no one minded the distance, but in the end it just wasn’t true. His death would destroy people, and he owed it to those people to fight until he couldn’t anymore. He may not be able to save himself, to save her, to save anyone…but what kind of man would he be if he didn’t try?

“Thank you, Mer.” His voice was even rougher than before, and he didn’t bother to hide the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. She met his gaze and the ghost of a smile crept across her lips as she nodded.

“Never thought the most moving speech of the day would be a blood mage giving an abomination a pep talk.” Fenris chuckled, giving Anders a bitter little smirk.

He couldn’t help but laugh, despite the pain in his chest and the tears on his cheeks. “Oh fuck off, Fen.” He told him, with all the love he could muster. Fenris made a rude gesture in return, his grin broadening in that rare way so few people ever got to see.

Isabela wiped at her eyes, the skin at their corners red from the moisture she was trying to hide. “Well, this has been entirely too much emotion for one day. I think I need about a hundred drinks.”

Merrill stood and swiped the grey dust off of her knees. “Tavern?” she asked cheerily, all trace of her earlier outburst erased from her voice.

Isabela looked at Fenris and then back at her, nodding resolutely. “Tavern.”

They turned to go, half of the family he had made in Kirkwall going to drown their sorrows without him and commiserate over his absence. It didn’t feel like exclusion, though. It felt like a celebration, like they were leaving without him, but would be saving him a seat. He knew that if he made it out of this they would all be waiting, and that was perhaps a sweet enough thought to keep him going for a few more days.

He moved forward, sitting up straighter so that he could make his voice carry to the group that was already across the room. “Tell her I love her.”

Fenris gave a small salute from his temple without turning around. “Will do, apostate. Stay alive.”

Anders chuckled again, and the pain in his chest felt gone for the moment. “That’s the one and only time I’ll listen to an order from you, elf.” He murmured, and their laughter followed them out until the door cut off the sound.

Stay alive, he thought. Easier said than done, but this wouldn’t be the first time he undertook something impossible. He would just have to give it his all, and with any luck for once fate would be on their side.

 

***

 

Cullen’s headache had not improved any during the course of the meeting, and he tried not to look miserable as Dagna, Fiona, and Bianca marched into the room. Dagna looked bursting with energy, as usual, while Bianca was the complete opposite, looking haggard and somewhat morose. Fiona managed to be somewhere in the middle as she glanced nervously at Alistair when she walked in. The king didn’t react to her in any particular way, and he suspected Melody had not yet told him of his mother’s true identity. Those suspicions were confirmed when he saw Melody catch the mage’s eye and give a small shake of her head, after which Fiona visibly relaxed.

Dagna’s effervescence dissolved somewhat as she stepped forward to address them all, wringing her hands as her tiny brow furrowed. “Is…is the Inquisitor okay? I mean, I’m pretty sure you can’t tell me where she went or anything, since everybody is pretending that her being gone is totally normal, but before Cassandra left she had that _look_ on her face. Yeah, _that_ one.” She paused and pointed at Cullen, who tried to reconfigure his expression to be something more neutral even as he felt a slight blush creep across his cheeks. Dagna shuffled her feet and continued. “And I, well, _we_ , just wanted to know if she was going to be okay.”

Josephine gave the Arcanist a gracious smile that came to her face with practiced ease. “The Inquisitor will be fine, Dagna. She’s just…” she faltered as she searched for the right words.

“She has done the same thing she usually does, which is to say something with the very best of intentions that is not entirely a good idea.” Vivienne supplied, smiling as though she were discussing a child who had done something adorably silly, like add too many chocolate chips to the cake batter. “Seeker Pentaghast and Varric have gone to help her, and I think we all know nothing could happen to the Inquisitor with either of them involved.”

Dagna let out a large breath she had apparently been holding, looking relieved. “Oh, good. We were really worried.” Fiona nodded in agreement while Bianca mumbled something too low for Cullen to catch, although whatever it was sounded quite bitter and angry.

“Dagna, give us some good news. What have you discovered?” Melody asked, moving the conversation into slightly less emotionally fraught territory.

The dwarf reached into a pocket in the front of her tunic and pulled out a small, charcoal grey crystal, the edges reflecting the dim light while the center seemed a hazy mass the color of a summer storm. She tossed it onto the war table and it tumbled across the surface while everyone in the room recoiled in shock, half expecting it to explode or react in some other dangerous way. It came to a halt just in front of Cullen and he stared at it, the shape of it familiar while the color was completely alien. He regarded it warily, as though it might turn into a serpent and launch at him the moment he let his guard down.

Dagna placed her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes at the group. “Relax, that one’s no more harmful than a regular old rock at this point. I brought it to show you what happens.”

Cullen cautiously picked it up, rubbing gloved fingers over the smooth surface. He caught the way each corner seemed to be formed and gasped slightly as he realized why the shape seemed so familiar. “Is this lyrium?”

“It _was_ lyrium.” Bianca said. “We took several batches and infected them with varying degrees of the blight. This is from one of the batches that was given the most advance corruption.”

Fiona gestured to the stone as Cullen passed it off to Melody’s outstretched hand. “As you can see, it alters the appearance of the ore fairly substantially.”

Melody’s eyes narrowed as she stared at it. “But…this doesn’t _feel_ like lyrium. There’s no magic in it.”

Bianca almost rolled her eyes, but seemed to stop herself early enough in the gesture and changed it to a slightly haughty smile. “That’s because it’s dead.”

“So the blight eventually kills it like everything else?” Josephine asked, leaning over to look as Melody passed it over to Vivienne after Alistair held up his hands in polite refusal.

Dagna wrinkled her nose even as she nodded. “Sort of. I mean, we all know that red lyrium can seemingly thrive on its own long after being corrupted with the blight. I didn’t just want to create a bunch of red lyrium, so I started working with the samples after they had been infected. Depending on the levels of infection, manipulating it as one would standard lyrium yields different results.”

Bianca jumped in, her voice rising as she excitedly continued the explanation. “Lyrium used in this manner takes on the color you see before you, ranging from a sort of grey to the deeper colors closer to black, although this one is the darkest hue to date. The catch is, once you start manipulating it, it doesn’t seem to respond the same way regular lyrium would. Most of the runes we crafted failed to function almost immediately, and it doesn’t take long until the magical properties inherent to the stones faded entirely.”

“Our theory is that red lyrium with enough corruption, and worked in the proper way, would look almost exactly like the brooches the Architect gave our team.” Fiona added.  
Cullen rubbed at the stubble across his jaw thoughtfully. “So, if working with red lyrium produces this, why was Samson’s armor still red?”

“Because it was designed in a different way, and for a different function.” Dagna said. “I mean, that was set up to channel energy through the lyrium and into the host body, enhancing strength and speed to insanely dangerous levels. It’s a completely different process to take the same substance and try to channel it so that it interacts directly with the taint. In fact, as far as I know, no one has EVER tried to design lyrium artifacts to interact with the blight at all, so this is kind of a new frontier.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow at the dwarf. “Except the Architect.”

Dagna bit her lip. “Right, well then definitely nobody this cute.” She beamed at the group gathered, losing none of her exuberance. “Besides, it’s not like he left any notes laying around.”

“Unfortunately none of it really matters.” Bianca interrupted. “We’re missing something key to be able to get this to work, which means so far all we’ve made is a bunch of useless garbage.”  
Fiona frowned at her. “That is not entirely true. We’ve discovered ways to push it in the right direction.” She turned to Cullen, addressing him directly. “It may also interest you to know that red lyrium in this format is no longer volatile, even when the magic is still active.”

“So far as you know.” He replied, mistrusting that assertion without more extensive testing. The last thing they needed was to start converting red lyrium in bulk only to discover this form had other drawbacks later.  
“It becomes completely safe to handle, which is similar to what happened with the rune I made for the Inquisitor to unmake that creepy armor. So if anything we’ve found a really effective way of disposing of red lyrium.” Dagna concluded, unperturbed by his skepticism.

Melody groaned, her fingers massaging her temple. “But we’re no closer to a cure for the blight.”

Dagna gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, Queen Melody. We know it can be done, and I think we can get at how exactly to do it, but it could take a really long time to figure it out this way. If we had the amulets I could probably reverse engineer the process pretty quickly, but without them…”

He curled his hand into a fist, feeling the leather of his glove strain as he gripped it. “So another impasse. It seems everything is on hold until she returns.”

“We’ll continue our research. Perhaps if we are lucky our persistence will pay off.” Fiona offered encouragingly.

“Or maybe people shouldn’t run off at the last minute and drag people into danger after her.” Bianca mumbled, and this time she was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear her.

“That will be all.” Vivienne snapped, glaring at Bianca hard enough that a less stubborn person might have fled the room. As it was Bianca only returned the stare, throwing her shoulders back indignantly. Vivienne was the first to break the standoff, turning her head and clearing her throat in an obvious dismissal. She smiled warmly at Dagna. “Thank you for the progress report, Arcanist. Do let us know if you require any further supplies to assist your efforts.”

Dagna bowed politely, ignoring Bianca as she silently fumed. “Thank you. And uh, let me know if there’s anything I can do for the Inquisitor.”

“Thank you, Dagna.” He told her quietly, wishing there WAS something she could do. The research team filed out, the door to the room clicking shut behind them with a soft whoosh as the magical seal fell back into place.

Alistair sighed heavily, leaning against the wall. “So, what do we do now?”

“We wait, and we hope that whatever Autumn is doing doesn’t ruin everything.” Cullen told him. He wished he had a better plan of action, but at the moment the only thing they could do was play the waiting game.


	29. Serious Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which trouble is stirring in Denerim, and Melody has a discussion with Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, my brain is sort of fried from finishing up the novella, so sorry if this chapter is short or weird or whatever. 
> 
> You will probably be getting a bonus chapter by Friday, because I'm feeling cool like that. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the thing. :)

It was the sound of the crowd that had drawn them out.

Well, if Zevran was being perfectly honest it was the sound of the crowd that had irritated Utharevas so much that he had all but demolished the pillows on the bedding, which had alerted them to the source of his owlish ire. Lessa had leaned against the windowpane and glanced down at the dirty Ferelden streets below, frowning in distaste at the boisterous group of people that had gathered.

“I don’t think they’re throwing a parade.” She said, jerking her head to get Zevran to get up and look with her. He groaned as he stood, his body protesting the movement as it disturbed his very comfortable position on the bed. It was, or at least it _had been_ , a wonderfully lazy afternoon, a belly full of ale leaving his head buzzing pleasantly, until the owl had started shrieking its raucous alert. He made his way to the window and she moved aside, giving him room to peer down at what it was that had caught her interest.

Their room overlooked the gates in front of the palace, the massive stone structure one he had remembered passing through often when accompanying Melody and their team on errands in Denerim, appeasing stuffy nobles in their mad dash to gain Alistair the throne. Generally the area was relatively empty, a handful of guards languidly passing the time at their posts, but today things seemed to be different. A group of people had gathered, shouting and making angry faces as they lobbed loud demands at the poor guards who looked scared out of their minds as they tried to keep the peace.

“Damn. We should get down there.” He muttered, turning and grabbing his cloak from where he had discarded it the night before. Lessa didn’t offer much in the way of a response, but she did grab her staff as Utharevas alighted on her shoulder.

As they hurried down the stairs and through the common room of the inn the shouting from outside got louder, the voices becoming clearer the closer they got. Hearing what they were saying did not settle his unease in the least. The sunlight momentarily blinded him as he stepped outside of the dimly lit inn, and he raised his hands to shade his eyes, blinking rapidly as they hurried up to the back end of the crowd.

“Where’s the king?” a round man with a shaggy black beard demanded, his face red with days spent absorbing too much sun.

One of the guards looked out at the crowd, his eyes glazing over as he tried to put on a brave face. “I can assure you, if you submit a request for an audience through the proper channels -”

“The proper channels have gotten us nowhere! What are we supposed to do about the coming blight?” a woman brandished a spoon at the guard, apparently having come out to join the crowd in the middle of preparing a meal. This was ludicrous, Zevran thought, flabbergasted that people could be so incensed so quickly over something that was nothing more than a rumor.

The guard held up his hands, trying to get the attention of the crowd. “There is no blight, if you would all just calm down - ”

“How can you assure the people there is no blight? Is that not what they were told during the last blight?” a disturbingly familiar voice carried over the disgruntled murmurs of the crowd, and Zevran’s eyes snapped to the scarred man from the bar the other night, his ruined face sagging against the bones of his skull. He sneered at the guards, his eyes even more wild than they had been before, the fingers of his hands twitching almost imperceptibly as he spoke. “Do you have proof that these people are safe? Will _King Alistair_  save them?”

Those gathered shouted their agreement, some of them raising fists in a menacing way. One of the guards took half a step back, his limbs trembling so badly that his armor rattled against itself.

“King Alistair will address your concerns when he returns.” A female guard ground out through a jaw clenched so tight it could have been welded shut. She glared at the men and women before her, daring them to question her authority.

“ _King Alistair_ has always done what pleased him. He’s run away to leave you to your fate.” The warden shouted, and to Zevran’s great surprise and disappointment the crowd jeered agreement. The female guard opened her mouth to reply, but the side of her helmet was hit with a large rock, tossed from someone in the mob to the left, and she went down like a brick in a lake, hitting the ground with a loud clattering of lifeless limbs. The remaining guards drew their swords, and chaos erupted in the streets a heartbeat later. Half the people surged forward, apparently trying to break their way into the palace, while the other half tried to run from the melee, to seek shelter somewhere less dangerous. Screams escaped the throats of both factions as people shoved in every direction, some falling to the ground, lost in the scuffle of too many feet vying for purpose. Two more guards went down as more poured out of the gates. If they didn’t act quickly, this could easily become an outright massacre.

“Got anything?” he asked Lessa as he scanned the tumult for any sign of the Maker damned warden. Zevran had several words he wanted to share with the unstable man, none of them particularly polite.

“Sure, why not?” Lessa shot back. She lifted her staff and rapped it against the ground, the crystal at the top glowing with blue energy as she focused her will. A moment later a thin fog rolled through the area, and all those that came in contact with it seemed to calm, blinking in confusion as if unsure what they had been doing. She brought her hand up to her lips and blew against her palm and the mist expanded, encompassing the whole crowd and slowly ending the riot before it could truly begin. People left, trailing back to their homes with dazed expressions on their faces.

The warden was nowhere to be seen.

“Let me guess,” Lessa sauntered over and placed her arm on his shoulder, leaning against him casually, “we need to go report this to Eamon?”

He shrugged her off, giving her a slightly piqued glare. “Yes, indeed we do.” He strode purposefully towards the guards, not quite knowing how to explain that a warden seemed to be inciting unrest in his friend’s kingdom. ‘Watching over things’ in Alistair’s absences was becoming increasingly more difficult by the day.

 

***

 

Melody couldn’t help but grin as she caught sight of her husband, lounging on the bed with the mabari slumped across his chest, humming softly to himself with the sweet tenor voice that was the best kept secret of Ferelden. He looked up when he heard her close the door, his face splitting into that grin that made all the troubles fade to the back of her mind. He was, as he always would be, her light in the smothering darkness. She returned his smile, somewhat shakily, her nerves building as she walked across the room to take a seat on the bed next to her. Xander and Indra made soft whining noises as Alistair sat up, already moving in to plant kisses along the back of her neck.

“We need to talk.” She turned, affixing him with a stern expression that got his attention immediately. She had put off this conversation long enough, and she couldn’t justify waiting any longer. He had a right to the information that she had learned, and it wasn’t fair for her to wait simply because it made her uncomfortable to be the one to tell him. Even if she knew there was likely no one else he would rather hear it from, she wasn’t exactly sure how he would take it, and she felt like if she did this the wrong way she could destroy something already delicate and fragile.

“Uh oh. You have the serious face. Nothing good ever happens when you get the serious face.” He pouted at her, and she rolled her eyes, not quite able to suppress the right corner of her mouth tilting up in a smirk. She shook her head, and he held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, I’m sorry. What do we need to talk about? And just so you know, if you are going to try and convince me to let you leave again, I will tell you right now you can _forget it_.”

She shook her head again, feeling the wait of her hair trail across the back of her shoulders. “No, Alistair. It’s about…I mean…” she sighed forcefully, irritated that her words were failing her despite the fact that she had practiced this conversation in her head about a hundred times.

He shifted himself forward so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed next to her, reaching out and taking her hands between his calloused fingers. It always made her feel small when he did that, his fists large enough to swallow hers whole. He gave her a searching look, his warm eyes panning over her face with concern. “Hey, whatever it is, you know you can tell me.”

“It’s about your mother.” She said, resisting the urge to wince in anticipation of whatever he would say to that.

He frowned, a little crease forming between his brows. “Well, um…what about her?”

“Apparently they lied about who she really was. Your mother wasn’t a servant.” She nervously fiddled with one of his fingers, tugging on the soft padding near his palm.

“Oh. I mean, I guess that’s fine.” He blinked at her for a moment, a slightly awkward silence stretching between them. “Does that mean Goldana was never really my sister? Because let me tell you, I wouldn’t be sad to find that out at _all_.”

She frowned at him again, wrinkling her nose as she contemplated the unexpected reaction. “Well, yeah, but that’s not the point –”

“Look, all of that is in the past.” He interrupted her, the cadence of his words slightly too fast to be convincingly normal. “I’m not sure we should dredge up ancient history.”

“She’s –”

“After all, the woman abandoned me. Why should I start caring about who she was now?” he wasn’t even looking at her anymore, staring above and past her head as he tried to convince himself of the validity of his words.  
She had to get through to him, to make him listen to the rest of what she had to say. “You don’t have to care –”

He tugged her hands to his chest, looking into her eyes with a fair amount of desperation. “The only thing that really matters is that I have _you_ , and that we’re working together to create our _own_ family.” His voice had taken on a slightly hysterical pitch. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted.” He was scared, frightened of the information that she had. He didn’t’ want to hear it, because he was afraid to know the truth. She couldn’t say she blamed him, after what he had learned of his father, but she couldn’t let him hide from this either. He had to know.

“Alistair, it’s Fiona.” She blurted, somewhat louder than she had intended.

He stared at her for a long time, regarding her as though she had announced herself the Queen of Garbage town and placed a dead nug on her head.

“What?” he asked finally, tilting his head like he had not heard her.

“Grand Enchanter, er, well, ex-grand enchanter Fiona. She was, _is_ , your mother.” Melody stumbled through the clarification, inwardly cursing her own ineptitude.

He worked the muscles in his jaw, his gaze going right through her. “I…I don’t know what to say.” He admitted. He jumped off the bed without warning, startling the dogs with the sudden disturbance. He began pacing in front of her, his hands gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “Maker’s breath, I screamed at her like some sort of barbarian in Redcliffe. She must think I’m some kind of monster who hates mages or something.”

“No!” she cried, thinking that this was all going wrong.

He turned and pointed at her. “You’re right! Why should I even care what she thinks?”

_Oh no, that wasn't right_. “That’s not –”

He didn’t even seem to hear her, continuing on blithely. “It’s kind of worse on her part, if you think about it. After all, she never even tried to _tell_ me about it.”

She needed to take charge of this situation. Immediately. “Alistair Theirin, sit down and shut up. Please. For a minute.”

He gaped at her, a slight flush creeping across his cheeks. He sat back down on the bed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, love.”

She cleared her throat, looking at him meaningfully. “Yes, Fiona is you’re mother. As she explained it to me, she didn’t want you to grow up with the stigma of being elven, nor did she ever intend for you to get trapped in the court.”

“That was _your_  fault.” He muttered, and she glared at him until he dipped his head again. “Sorry.”

“I think she did what she thought was best for you, and I think that it wouldn’t kill you to sit down and have a conversation with her.” She continued. “I think she would very much like to get to know you.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her finger and he snapped it back shut again with an audible click. “Obviously, you don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable. I won’t think any less of you, and of course I will still love you no matter what. But if you want my opinion, and I know at some point you will, I think it would do both of you some good to sit down and have a heart to heart.”

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. “I don’t think I know how to talk to mothers. I’ve never had one.”

“I don’t think she knows any more than you do in that regard.” She placed her hand on his back and started rubbing small, soothing circles.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, a trace amount of hurt in his trembling voice.

She lifted on of her eyebrows at him, her lips twitching into a small smirk. “Well, you’ve hardly let me get any rest since you arrived. It’s hard to say ‘Fiona is your mother’ when you have your head between my legs.”

He turned a deeper shade of crimson but smiled with a sort of embarrassed pride. “Right, that.” He tilted his head, looking at her with heated eyes that spoke volumes of the intent behind them. “Hm, speaking of which, I think we’ve done entirely too much talking for one evening.” He pounced on her, dragging her down on the mattress as she squealed with glee, her giggles echoing around the room as he rained kisses all across her jawline. When their lips finally met it was slow and sweet, both of them content to take their time and enjoy the feeling of being able to do that again whenever they wanted. When he finally pulled back to look into her eyes, she gave him an apologetic smile, shifting out from under him.

“Unfortunately, I’ve promised Madame Vivienne that we would have tea with her this afternoon.”

He groaned dramatically and flopped backwards onto the bed, making her bounce with the force of the movement. “Ugh, why do you hate me?”

She trailed a finger down the center of his chest, watching the muscles ripple beneath her touch. “Sick of me already, love?”

He was on her again before she knew what was happening, swallowing her lips in a kiss whose passion took her breath away. She surrendered to the sudden bliss, allowing herself to be taken into the wonderful joy of belonging to this sweet, gentle man.

He pulled back and his eyes were full of adoration, shining too brightly with a relief that echoed resoundingly within her own heart, relief at being in one another’s arms again. “Never.” He murmured.

He dipped to kiss her again, and she decided perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to be late to tea after all.


	30. Do Not Lie to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Autumn gets what she asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was totally going to be a letters chapter but it wasn't working out so here, you get this. *flings words at the screen*  
> But it is early, and it is even a little longer than normal...I think? ENJOY.

As another large, frozen, and now rapidly melting clump of snow worked its way over the top of her boot, Autumn regretted once again the necessity of leaving in the middle of the night without properly preparing. Certainly her bag had held the bare essentials, but faced with the prospect of spending another night out in the woods by herself, she realized precisely how much she missed those enchanted coats Dagna had made, and her thicker boots with the fur lining that kept the elements _out_ rather than sloshing them in and couching her feet in frigid, swampy unpleasantness. It occurred to her somewhat belatedly that she had never actually travelled alone during her time with the Inquisition. She had always had the bedroll of a friend to curl up in for warmth, or layers of cottony blankets warmed in a box next to the fire to protect her apparently temperature-delicate sensibilities. She found herself mentally cataloguing each and every time Dorian had slipped into her tent to sleep together in order to conserve warmth, or every time Solas had passed along a cold resistance potion that he seemed to carry specifically for her, or the numerous times Bull had produced Antivan hot chocolate from Maker only knows where so that they could have something that warmed their spirits and their bellies. She had always thought she loved the cold, and while it was true it was still vastly superior to the stifling heat of the desert, she found in the end what she really preferred were her friends, and how the cold brought them all together.

She grit her teeth, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself as she glanced up into the sky. The sun had cast a brilliant golden orange glow over everything, now hidden behind the horizon line, many of the shadows already long enough to drown the world in the cold blue of another cloudless night. She sighed, and her breath rose in a great cloud in front of her face, tickling the tip of her nose, which was stopped up from breathing the icy air. She was probably running a fever after trekking through the mountain passes half frozen for the past few days, a fact made all the more likely by the red hot soreness raked across the back of her throat. She was tired, sick, cold, and above all else heartbreakingly lonely, and more than a few times she wanted to turn around and go back, to crawl into her husband’s arms and implore him to help her find a solution.

But then she would remember Lilly’s face as she begged her to help, and her feet kept trudging resolutely away from her home.

She sneezed forcefully enough to make her see stars momentarily, and the sound echoed around the quiet area, bouncing around in the empty trees. She sniffed miserably, wishing she had something warm and steaming to cradle beneath her nose. Halting her footsteps, she looked around for a likely place to make camp. She couldn’t build a fire, but perhaps she could curl up somewhere and build up her body warmth under her coat before she caught pneumonia. It was true that she was out here trying to put herself in enough danger to drag Solas out of wherever he was hiding, but there had to be a more useful or dignified way to do it besides collapsing from a fever in the middle of the woods like some ninny who had never been camping before.

The branch snapping from somewhere behind her sent a jolt of alarm across every one of her nerves, and she froze, straining to listen for any further sounds. She immediately realized that the quiet around her was eerie, and what she had mistaken as a peaceful dusk was actually one completely devoid of any of the creatures that should be stirring at this time of day. She cursed silently in her head, slowly reaching her hands to grip the hilt of the daggers strapped to her back. Her eyes scanned the area, trying to pick up any bit of movement, but in the twisting shadows that were growing darker by the minute her eyes played tricks on her. Everything appeared to be moving, shifting this way and that, and she couldn’t tell what was nature in the breeze or an attacker come to take her life. She lifted her daggers, holding them in front of her and took a bracing breath through her mouth, her nose still too plugged to be of any use.

“There’s no need for that.” A voice carried out of the darkness next to her, and a tall woman strolled out of the tree line. She leaned heavily on a staff adorned with a bright, shining griffon to match the emblem emblazoned on the front of her armor. She smiled, her lips painted a dark red that was almost black in the very center, contrasting sharply against teeth that were too long and white, like flattened fangs. Brown, shaggy bangs hung just above eyes that were almost the precise color of her hair, all set in bronze skin so that without the stark black and red makeup smeared across her lids and lips she was almost one uniform color, too bland to be golden and too light to be mysterious. “We just want to talk.”

“I’m not particularly chatty.” Autumn shot back, watching her carefully, taking note of the fact the woman said “we”, although she couldn’t see anyone else to speak of. Autumn glanced around nervously, wishing she had paid more attention to her surroundings than her damn sinuses.

“Well, perhaps we could persuade you.” Her smile broadened in a remarkably unfriendly way, and the others seemed to melt out of the shadows all around her. A dozen grey wardens wielding all manner of weapons, including two mages, framed her in a loose circle, closing off any pathway she might have had to escape, although from the positions they moved from she must have been surrounded for some time before she had actually noticed them.

She gave their apparent leader a glare, wishing looks alone could kill. “I’m listening.” She ground out between teeth clamped shut. Another sneeze burned behind her eyes, but she forced her body to hold it back, gripping her daggers tighter than she ever had before.

“Well, you’re sneaking about these mountains like some kind of thief, dressed all in black, and very obviously coming from that big ol’ ruin they call Skyhold.” The mage’s mousy eyes flashed dangerously as she walked closer, and Autumn could smell the stink of lyrium rolling off her in waves. It let her know two things: one, she didn’t plan on talking for long and had pre-emptively anticipated a fight, and two, she hadn’t underestimated Autumn just because she was alone, which meant she likely wasn’t stupid. Neither fact boded well for her getting out of this in once piece. “My friends here thought you were perhaps a defector, slipping away so you wouldn’t have to betray Thedas’ only protection against the blight.” She put her elbow on one of the other wardens, leaning heavily against the man, who grinned and chuckled rather ominously. “But me, I think you might just be somebody important. A messenger, trying to get word out to your allies, perhaps?” she raised her eyebrows, humming speculatively. “So, which is it?”

She started counting to three in her head, slowly. There were twelve of them, but if she struck out fast enough she could take enough of them out in order to clear a path out of there. If she could get running she could probably escape into the woods. They might outnumber her, but she was dressed for stealth and could cover her tracks when she got far enough away from their pursuit. She took a deep breath, and exhaled deliberately before she finally reached three.

She took a half step so she could spin around and lunge at the mage first, aiming her daggers for a lethal blow to her sparsely armored stomach. She was fast, her reflexes likely enhanced by magic and lyrium, and she threw the warden she had been leaning on into the blade instead, the man’s eyes going wide as the dagger punched through his gut. Autumn ripped the dagger out, feeling magic humming to life behind her and ignoring it as best she could as the hapless man fell to the ground. She spun, missing most of the others entirely as her movements were thrown off, her balance hindered by the cold stuffed in her head. Her blade did make contact with one man’s temple, and he shouted as he went down, leaving her just enough of a gap to give her a fighting chance. She dove for it, trying to roll through in a move that would hopefully allow her to land outside the circle of attackers on her feet, but she never got that far. In the middle of her maneuver her stomach caught the full force of a swing from a massive warhammer, violently reversing her trajectory and sending her flying backwards through the air. Her arms sailed outward, her daggers slipping from her hands and following majestic arcs through the early night air to land in the brush, too far away to give her any hope of using them again. She hit the ground hard, as though flung from a canon, her left shoulder bearing the brunt of the impact. It cracked, loudly, the searing pain of breaking bones coursing through her nerves, and she opened her mouth wide, screaming horribly as her whole arm throbbed, the anchor snapping angrily in protest as the parts of what had been her shoulder ground together. She writhed on the ground as her body was wracked with the throes of the miserable chain reaction, the anchor and shoulder competing to see which part of her could cause the most grief.

“Stop!” the mage’s voice drifted through the haze of hatred and pain fogging her mind. Autumn tried to move, to stand up and run as she had originally intended, but a heavy boot settled over her throat, pinning her to the ground and cutting of most of her air supply. She coughed roughly, her stomach like one solid bruise as it heaved while she tried to breathe, and tears from the pain worked their way out of the corners of her eyes. The mage leaned down and ripped the glove off of her left hand, exposing the mark as it glowed vividly in the now darkened night, wrenching her shoulder again in the process and sending a whole new surge of pain through her. She whimpered helplessly as the boot’s heavy metal edges dug into her skin, crushing the blood vessels in her neck.

“Shit, Cambria, is that the fucking _mark_?” one of the men whistled appreciatively, his emphasis on the word making it abundantly clear they knew exactly what was on her hand.

Cambria, the mage leader, moved over so that Autumn got a good look at her face, her smile a sinister split too wide and feral to be attractive. “Knock her out, she’s coming with us.” She extolled to her men.

The pommel of someone’s weapon connected with the side of her head, and the night scene was swallowed by blackness.

 

***

 

It felt as though she blinked for a moment and her reality shifted, but of course she knew she had been knocked out, and so she recognized at once that she had been sent into the fade. She found herself laying on the grass in a familiar clearing, one that she felt like she had been dreaming about for a long time. After Solas revelations about visiting her in the fade, she wondered if that weren’t true after all. She sat up, grateful that her shoulder wasn’t broken while she was here, taking in the scenery. Moonlight glossed over the soft grass and played with the shadows of the trees whose branches were weeping mint colored leaves. A set of stairs leading up to a doorway to nowhere sat just a few feet from her, and at the top Solas stood, his face suffused with wrath. She scrambled to her feet even as he rushed down the steps, and when he reached her his long fingers wrapped around her arms, shaking her angrily.

“I condemn you for throwing yourself carelessly into danger, and your reaction is to contrive new ways to do so?” he shouted at her, his brow furrowed as his eyes boiled with fury.

She felt her temper flare and her heart turn to ice almost instantly, wishing she could slap him for no other reason than to cause him some pain. “Why should you care?” she shrugged, affecting a cool disposition that showed nothing of the horrible emotions churning beneath the surface. “ _You_ won’t help me, remember? I’m taking matters into my own hands.” She lied, unwilling to admit that this was her desperate attempt to draw him out.

He saw through her, despite her callous bluster. “Do not lie to me.” His tone was a low growl, and order that he clearly expected to be obeyed, and it felt like fire licking at the edges of her already burned heart.

“Why not?” she shook with impotence, unflinchingly meeting his imposing stare. “Because our friendship is so based in honesty? Look me in the eyes and swear you have never hidden anything from me. Tell me why you left, and why you act like it doesn’t matter.” She demanded.

His face crumbled, a statue that had held for a thousand years cracking and falling into the sea, the churning waters of their argument swallowing some of his resolve.

It did nothing to quell his anger. “I have never acted like it does not matter!” his voice broke somewhat as his fingers dug into her muscles, trying to press meaning into her physically where his words could not.

“No, but you act like none of us matter. You act like Anders doesn’t matter.” She swallowed back the sob that felt like it was lodged in her throat, breathing harshly in response. “By refusing to talk to me, you act like _I_ don’t matter.”

“Because I cannot explain everything to you?” his frustration was matched only by his heartache, his eyes wild with so many emotions she could hardly register them all. “Do you honestly believe that translates to not caring about you? I will _always_ care for you.”

She could feel him choosing his words carefully, and for some reason that hurt her all the more. She wanted him honest, wanted him candid, wanted him _with_ her and not who knew how far away, only deigning to see her in the fade when she was desperate. “Why am I supposed to believe that?”

“Yet you do!” she opened her mouth to protest, but he continued on, shaking her again to quell her response. “Do not deny it, it is the whole reason you have done this. You use it as a weapon, wield it against me so that I am forced to do as you bid.” His tone was as pleading as it was accusatory, and she was flooded with guilt for what she was doing. Would she ruin her relationship with everyone she knew along her path to save Anders? Was that her true legacy, to light up the friendships she had made and watch them burn as she sank into the Void, an empty vessel who had done her best and lost it all?

“What else am I supposed to do?” she brought her hands up and knocked a fist against his chest, wishing she could beat him like the stubborn brick wall he resembled. “Should I let him die because I’ve done something to offend you and driven you away?” she was surprised at how hurtful the bitter words felt as they passed through her lips. Those Maker damned tears were threatening to well up in her eyes, and the sympathetic look on his face wasn’t helping.

“Curse you, foolish woman! You have not offended me.” He moved his hand to wrap long fingers around the fist pressed against his chest, the touch so horribly familiar that she wanted to cleave to him and never let go until he promised not to leave her again. She had missed him, missed his quiet confidence and seemingly endless fonts of knowledge, his dry humor that never failed to drag laughter out of her even when she thought she might never laugh again. She missed her friend, so much, and it was killing her that he had placed this wall between them and refused to build her even a window to look through and understand.

“Solas, I can’t stop until he gets help. I can’t go back there without finding a way, so if you won’t help me I’ll just have to figure something else out. I _will_ save him.” She gave him a weak smile, a peace offering even though she still felt like she was sinking in a mire of anger and betrayal.

She could feel herself waking up, already aware of the rough way her body was being handled in the living world. Solas expression shifted from something hovering near indecision to panic, gripping her close to his chest even as she disappeared. She saw him through a haze, the dark colors of night creeping in front of him so that he looked corporeal, a vision hovering at the edge of her mind, and she could no longer feel him wrapped around her.

“Autumn!” he cried, begging her to stay even though he knew she was powerless to do so. “ _AUTUMN! Wait for me!_ ” he pleaded, tears glistening in his anguished eyes. “ _I will find you, just wait for me!_ ” he vowed, and she saw his lips forming words after that, but they didn’t make any sounds, hurling meaning through the thick wall of the veil only to have it bounce off when it couldn’t break through.

She blinked, and her eyes opened to muffled darkness, a coarse fabric wrapped around her head and filled with her hot, ragged breath. The horrible pain lancing through her shoulder came back to her in a rush, every movement causing a new level of agony. She was being dragged along the ground. The cloth around her head obscured her view completely, but she could feel snow laden leaves and branches catching in her hair, rocks and shards of ice scraping against her back. Her hands were bound behind her, tight enough to hurt, and her legs were tied at the ankle where her abductors were holding her leash.

She bit her tongue to keep from screaming, and remembered what he had promised. He was coming for her, she just had to wait.

 

***

 

He sat up, his sudden movement startling one of the brightly colored birds that had been perched near his resting place. The large paws of the wolf statue curved around him almost protectively, or perhaps that was just his current mood coloring the way it felt. His heart was beating so fast it threatened to burst from his chest, and he could feel his breathing coming in sharp little gasps that scraped against the back of his throat.

He stood in one fluid movement, and he saw Abelas rise with him from the corner of his eye, a look of concern on his grim features. He ignored the elven sentinel, adjusting the wraps on his feet primly as he tried to quell the lingering panic from his meeting in the fade. Speaking to her, _all_ of her, was horribly wondrous, something that left him tattered and ragged, but that he was helplessly addicted to. Even though it made him feel like his soul was being thrown into the blackest abyss, every time he returned he immediately wanted more. It was hopeless and tragic and everything he had always arrogantly thought he would never be. Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

“Do you need assistance?” Abelas asked him in elven, hiding his curiosity well.

Solas turned to him, carefully keeping his face impassive. “Remain here, guard the temple from intruders. I shall return when I am able.” Abelas bowed, and Solas could see the hesitation in his face. The man knew far more than was necessary, and in truth Solas should have found someone who knew less of his dealings with the Inquisition. But he was a loyal servant to Mythal, and he didn’t have the patience to scour all of Thedas for someone else to help.

“Are you going for _her_?” Abelas asked finally, his loyalty apparently not enough to stay his tongue. The way he used the pronoun made Solas want to strike him, to punish him for disrespecting her, even in this small way. He couldn’t summon enough anger, however. He could hardly blame Abelas for his confusion, for his resentment of the person that drew his so-called god’s attention away from his duty. If this had all happened a hundred years ago, Solas himself would have been the one seething with ire. Much had changed in him during the war against Corypheus, however, not the least which were his priorities. It was tempting, so tempting to abandon this madness and return to her, to live in her shadow and be pleased with what little part of her he got, what was left after she gave everything to Cullen. He would like to say his pride was too great, that he would not lower himself to such a denigrated existence, but he knew deep down he would do it if there were not so much at stake. It would not be enough, because none of it would _ever_ be enough, but he would endure it for the honor of calling himself her friend.

“Never fall in love.” He told Abelas, avoiding his gaze as he grabbed his staff. He walked out of the temple, Mythal’s temple, and into the jungle beyond, his feet padding quietly against the loamy soil. Abelas offered no further comment, and Solas didn’t care what he would have said in any case. He had to move quickly, because he knew he didn’t have much time.

Even though he had tried to resist, had tried to tell himself that he had moved on, that their separation was permanent, his heart had always known the lie. Autumn needed him, and Solas would always be there when she needed him.


	31. The Ironbutt Bullface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which LETTERS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE HAVE ANOTHER BONUS CHAPTER.
> 
> Now with added Druffalo Humor.

_Hawke,_   
_What does it take to get that elf guy to spar?_   
_-Bull_

 

_Bull,_   
_I don’t know, hit him?_   
_-Lilly_

 

_Hawke,_   
_What, just like, anytime?_   
_-Bull_

 

_Bullface,_   
_Uh, maybe not. Usually he just asks me to spar. Have you tried asking him?_   
_-Lilly_

 

_Hawkebutt,_   
_Why am I “Bullface”? Also yes, I tried asking him. He just made that face and walked off._   
_-Bull_

 

_The Ironbutt Bullface_   
_You’re Bullface because I got bored, that’s why. Why do you care if he wants to spar with you?_   
_-Lilly_

 

_Lilly “does the carpet match the drapes?” Hawkebutt,_   
_Have you seen the sword he carries around? How does he even swing it with those tiny little arms? I need to know. For science. Battle science._   
_-Bull_

 

_The Ironbutt “apparently doesn’t know I killed the Arishok” Bullface_   
_DID YOU JUST ASK ME WHAT I THINK YOU JUST ASKED ME? You’re on your own now, fucking assweasel._   
_-Lilly_

 

_Madame “cannot take a joke” Hawke,_   
_Don’t pretend to be offended. You’re just acting mad so you have another excuse to spar with me. You only had to ask._   
_-Bull_

 

_Bullhole,_   
_You are so on. Same place as last time?_   
_-Lilly_

 

_Hawkebutt,_   
_Always._   
_-Bull_

 

_***_

 

_Dorian,_   
_Does Cole often run around with an armful of very angry cats?_   
_-Rhys_

 

_Rhys,_   
_No, generally he prefers to lure the cats. It’s the chickens he carries around._   
_-Dorian_

 

_Dorian,_   
_Should I be concerned?_   
_-Rhys_

 

_Rhys,_   
_You could, but you are going to get bored with it after a while I promise you. We find that as long as he doesn’t hurt himself it’s best just to let him do whatever it is he does._   
_-Dorian_

 

_Dorian,_   
_Right. So I asked him, and he told me the cats were for the garden, because the birds were being selfish._   
_-Rhys_

 

_Rhys,_   
_Oh yes, he mentioned something about that earlier. If I had to guess, the gardener was probably having problems keeping the birds out of some plant or another, and Cole probably heard and decided to help. He likes to poke around in people’s heads and fix their problems. It’s a little unnerving at first, but you get used to it eventually._   
_-Dorian_

 

_Dorian,_   
_That’s incredible! I don’t think I remember him doing anything like that before. Has he always had that ability, or is that something that has happened since you all, what was it you said you did, “made him more real”? Have you studied it at all?_   
_-Rhys_

 

_Rhys,_   
_Cole answers our questions to the best of his abilities, but I am not about to “study” him. He IS a real person, with his own right to exist without me poking and prodding him just to satisfy my curiosity. As far as we’re concerned, Cole is an enigma, and he will likely remain that way. More than that, he is our friend, and I will do anything within my power to ensure he remains as happy and healthy as he has been for the past several months._   
_I appreciate the scientific possibilities, believe me. And I appreciate that you must have spent a great deal of time trying to study him when you knew him, but I simply cannot relegate him to a test subject, and I would thank you sincerely if you wouldn’t either._   
_-Dorian_

 

_Dorian,_  
(several phrases are started and then scratched out, most of them containing parts of an apology)  
 _Thank you. Thank you for taking care of him like that. I never meant to offend, and you have my deepest and sincerest gratitude for everything you said about him._  
 _I hope that I can buy you another drink sometime to repay you._  
 _-Rhys_

 

_Rhys,_   
_I never turn down a chance to socialize with a fellow scholar._   
_-Dorian_

 

_***_

 

_Curly,_   
_Why is there a shrine dedicated to a pair of druffalo in your stables?_   
_-Izzy_

 

_Izzy,_   
_That is a very long story._   
_-Cullen_

 

_Curly,_   
_Lucky for you I have quite a lot of time on my hands. Spill it._   
_-Izzy_

 

_Izzy,_   
_Well I’m glad your stay is so full of leisure time. I DO still have an army to run, you know?_   
_-Cullen_

 

_Curly,_   
_Blah blah blah stop working so hard and tell me already._   
_-Izzy_

 

_Curly,_  
 _So I asked that stablemaster fellow, and HE was nice enough to take time out of his day to explain it, unlike some people who are SUPPOSED to be old friends._ (Isabela has drawn a small, angry looking face with wildly inaccurate curly hair)  
 _So she rode a druffalo and named it after you, huh? Not sure I get the resemblance, but then again I never did see you without any pants on. Does she call your you-know-what “the druffalo”?_  
 _-Izzy_

 

_Izzy,_   
_She doesn’t call it anything! Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?_   
_-Cullen_

 

_Curly,_   
_So does that mean she doesn’t say anything at all, or is she the “Oh Maker” type? Or does she just say YOUR name over and over again? So many possibilities!_   
_-Izzy_

 

_Izzy,_   
_Keep it up and I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon for slandering the Herald._   
_-Cullen, COMMANDER OF THE INQUISITION_

 

_Noodlekins,_   
_Oh, yes! Then I can ask Anders. I’m sure he would have some ideas, having met her and all._   
_By the way, there is no force in Thedas that can stop me from calling you Druffalo Noodlekins now._   
_-Izzy_

 

_Izzy,_   
_I hate you._   
_-Cullen_

 

_Ser Druffalo Noodlekins the First,_  
(there is no message written, but an elaborately drawn winking face)  
 _Hugs and Kisses,_  
 _-Izzy_

_***_

 

_Holy Bird,_   
_Handed off the package. Hummingbird has flown away, they have sent the Storyteller and the Flaming Scourge to track her down. Otherwise all is safe for now._   
_-Your Knight_

_Knight,_   
_Tell me when the Hummingbird has returned. Please tell the Lion I will put out ears as well. Keep me apprised of the situation. I will expect you to return when you are no longer needed, to report in full._   
_-Holy Bird_

 

_Holy Bird,_   
_Affirmative. Will return when things have calmed down._   
_-Your Knight_

 

_***_

 

_Autumn,_   
_Everything still smells like you. The bed, the blankets, the parchment left out on the desk, all of it carries your scent like some ghost rattling around the room. If I lay down and close my eyes, for just a moment I can pretend none of this is happening, that the truth of your absence is all some nightmare that I will wake from at any moment. But then I open my eyes and you’re still gone. Now I’m writing a letter that I can’t even send you, because I miss you so much I hardly know what to do with myself. Our bedroom is too big, and I am a small man without you._   
_I have so many questions. I’m angry and I’m torn apart and I don’t know whether I want to hold you or murder you when you’re back. I want to yell at you until I don’t have any more breath in my lungs, until all of these words bouncing around inside my chest are free and cannot eat away at me any longer._   
_But most of all I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t make it clear that you could have trusted me. I’m sorry that you didn’t think I would have supported you no matter what it was you were doing. I’m so sorry if I ever, even once, made you feel like you had to do anything alone._   
_So I guess what I’m saying is that I forgive you. I love you and I forgive you as long as you promise to come back. Come back in one piece and I will forgive everything, and spend every moment proving to you that you never have to do anything alone again._

(there is no signature on the letter, but the parchment is covered in wet splotches)


	32. Kind Men Dragged Through Unkind Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair and Fiona have a chat, and Cassandra and Varric wandering the woods alone together goes about as well as anyone expected.

Alistair wasn’t even there yet and the room was already filled with so much tension that Melody couldn’t help but bounce one of her feet quietly beneath the table, chewing on her lip and trying not to stare at Fiona as they both waited in stilted silence. Fiona kept her eyes politely pointed in Melody’s general direction, but by the way her pupils shifted it was obvious she wasn’t truly focused on anything in particular. She had agreed to the meeting readily enough, but the way she sat in the chair across the table she looked much like a scared animal ready to bolt at the slightest noise, a rabbit whose whiskers twitched in eternal alert.

“Is he…angry?” even the small sound of Fiona’s voice startled her, her mind wanting to retreat from the overwrought tension in the air.

She smiled at the elven mage in a way that she hoped was reassuring. “Well, he wasn’t exactly happy.” Fiona’s face fell, and she looked a heartbeat away from calling the whole thing off. “I don’t think angry is a good way to describe it. He very rarely gets angry.” Melody added quickly, which seemed to settle her somewhat.

“Oh.”

They both turned their heads at the sound of the door being opened, and the carefully crafted wood panels swung wide to reveal Alistair, flushed and hesitant as only Alistair could be. He walked in, shutting the door behind him carefully as Fiona flew out of her seat, squeaking slightly as though she were startled to see him.

“Your Majesty!” she gasped out the honorific, her eyes wide as she took him in.

Alistair turned a deeper shade of crimson, scuffing his foot against the floor. “Maker’s breath, can we not with the titles?”

“Sorry.” She mumbled back, looking truly contrite.

Melody watched as that moment stretched out, ponderously, torturously slowly, neither of them willing to meet the other’s eyes. She could feel the smile on her own face beginning to sting as she held it there forcefully, waiting for one of them to take an initiative of some kind. After the longest pause in her entire life she decided their family resemblance was stronger than she had thought, and she would have to nudge them in the right direction or risk standing there until they all expired of old age and awkwardness.

“Why don’t you both sit?” she told them, gesturing to the table.

They both blinked and, as one, mumbled, “Yes of course…” then both of them looked slightly mortified that they had spoken at the same time. Melody could feel a headache forming directly between her eyes, and she had to focus to keep her positive demeanor showing to the fretful pair.

There was a brief scramble of chairs being adjusted as they all settled again, and then another long pause. This time they were looking at each other however, like a dog and a cat that didn’t quite know what to make of the other, their minds pacing meandering circles of thought as they both worked out exactly what they should be feeling. She felt like she had been caught in the middle of some kind of standoff, trapped between two people sizing the other up and waiting for something to happen to spur them into making the first move.

Melody tapped her fingers against the table with impatience. “Do you guys want me to leave?”

“NO!” Alistair blurted, a look of sheer panic on his face. He blushed so deeply that the faint freckles along the bridge of his nose looked like dots of white paint against his skin. “I mean, no, please stay.” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand, stilling her fingers as he glanced back to Fiona. “She is the biggest part of my life, I couldn’t imagine doing this without her.”

“I can see you have something very special.” Fiona smiled graciously, a wistful expression behind her eyes. “You are lucky to have one another.”

Alistair’s face twisted somewhat, his brows coming together in concentration. “Was it…did you…I mean, with Maric that is…”

“Did I love Maric?” Fiona finished for him, somewhat amused by the question.

He blew out an irritated breath. “Yes. I suppose that is what I am _trying_ to say.”

Her gaze seemed to lose its focus, lost in memories that took place before either of the royal couple had been born. “In a way, yes. In so much as I think I could love anyone back then, yes, I loved your father.”

“Did he love you?” Alistair was intent as he posed his questions, taking the matter in with a degree of seriousness he rarely showed.

Fiona let slip a low chuckle, her eyes sparkling with remembrance. “Yes. Of that I am sure. Your father was a kind soul dragged through an unkind life. The world was not fair to him.”

“Listen, you should know…” he hesitated, and Melody could tell he was thinking about how much to tell her about Maric. The ghosts of what he had seen of his father still haunted him, and Melody wished again, for perhaps the millionth time, that he had been able to meet him under better circumstances. “I met him, before he died. He seemed a good man, and he died a good death.” He lied finally, leaving out the details of the encounter. His hand closed around hers spasmodically, and Melody offered him an encouraging smile that she knew wouldn’t reach her eyes. Alistair deserved better, Maric had deserved better. Kind men dragged through unkind lives was perhaps the most apt description she had ever heard for the Theirin line, and it was something of a comfort that she was not the only woman to have noticed the injustice of that situation.

Fiona’s eyes glossed over with unshed tears that she blinked back hastily. “Oh. I…I don’t know what to say.”

“I never know what to say. Maybe I get that from you.” He replied glumly, although he shot her a roguish half smile that made him look like a young boy trying to piece together complicated matters he didn’t completely understand.

The mage laughed, a rich sound that she seemed unpracticed in, like she hadn’t done it in a very long time. “No, you are every bit your father’s son. You even have his grin.”

Alistair smiled at that, obviously proud at the comparison. It took him a moment to regain his solemn demeanor before continuing. “Why did you leave him?”

“I am an elven mage. An elven mage who was a grey warden at the time. I could not allow him to throw his kingdom into unrest trying to do right by me. I…I did not want that for you. I wanted you to be happy, to grow up away from all of the politics and the prejudice. It was better that you never know who I was, to think that your mother was some nameless serving girl, than to have to face the things I faced as an elf growing up in Orlais.”

“Maker’s breath, you _are_ Orlesian. Leliana is going to have a field day.” He mumbled dejectedly.

Melody bit her lip to suppress the giggle that threatened to pour out of her. “Morrigan is probably going to have a good laugh as well.”

“Yes, thank you love.” He rolled his eyes at her dramatically. “Your observations are so very necessary.” Fiona laughed at the pair of them, seemingly thrilled over the exchange. Alistair, not done with his questions, quickly steered the conversation back on topic. “So…why didn’t you ever come back for me?”

Melody didn’t miss the pang of regret that shadowed the older woman’s expression. “I could never think of how to tell you. Besides, I had myself convinced that you were better off without me, better off not knowing.” She fidgeted with a small crystal broach on the collar of her robes, her eyes darting towards the wood of the table. “Then, when the blight started and everything got complicated so fast, I didn’t know…I thought you might hate me if I told you. I wanted to talk to you so many times, especially in Redcliffe-"

Alistair’s gasp cut her off. “Oh, Maker, I am so sorry for that! You must have thought I was horrible after I ran in shouting at all of you!”

Fiona leaned forward, her hands shooting out in a gesture of supplication. “No! You had every right to be mad. You were very kingly. I was…I was very proud.” Her crooked smile reflected her amusement over the fact that the sentiment was obviously unfamiliar to her.

“You were…proud of me?” Alistair’s voice was barely a whisper as he choked out the words, swallowing thickly as he stared at Fiona.

“You stood up for your people when they had been wronged, and you did it in the most diplomatic way I could imagine. You are such a wonderful king, better even than your father, and I am so very proud of all that you have accomplished, both on and off the throne.” She was shining with her sincerity, meaning each and every word, and Alistair lost his ability to speak, his mouth working silently for a moment as he processed what she had said.

He stood suddenly, surprising both Melody and Fiona so that they shot out of their chairs with him. Fiona looked distressed, nervous that she had overstepped her bounds or done something wrong, but Melody could tell Alistair might be happier than he had been in a long time in that moment. He walked around the rim of the table and scooped the startled enchanter into his arms, crushing her in a hug that was at least twenty years overdue. Fiona hesitated for half a moment before returning the embrace, and they both dissolved into tears of joy, reveling in a bond neither of them ever thought they would get to share in their lifetimes. Melody wiped at her eyes, swiftly hiding her own tears as she watched the beautiful sight. It made her miss her own mother, wishing that there were some long held secret that had separated them rather than the icy cold hands of death and betrayal. But she was happy, truly and deeply happy for Alistair in this moment. If anyone deserved a little piece of joy it was him. He had given up so much of himself, not just when he had become king but throughout all the stages of his life, pulled in a hundred different directions and never once given voice to his own desires. Yet through all of that, he remained so wonderfully positive, full of life and laughter that made him an anchor for her in all her times of need. She would give him everything he ever wanted if she could, and it was thrilling that she had been able to help accomplish at least this much.

“I’m so glad you told me.” He said, speaking to his mother with genuine bliss. Fiona could only nod in response, her face red from the tears dripping down her cheeks. She sniffed forcefully as they pulled apart from one another, wiping at her nose with a sleeve in a wholly undignified gesture, laughing a little at the mess she had become.

Alistair smiled at her, taking her hand in his so that he held her full attention, although it wouldn’t have been necessary. He was all that she could look at in that moment, like she had been waiting all her life to allow herself to see him. “I have a lot to think about, and there would be a lot to do to make it work, but I want you to come back with us when we return to Denerim.”

She recoiled immediately, shaking her head in protest. “No, I couldn’t! Your people would not accept me-“

“You shouldn’t have to hide.” He said firmly. “I shouldn’t have to hide who I am, who I _really_ am. You should be able to be proud of who you are, and I’m tired of all these politics getting in the way of people being free to be themselves. Whether you come with us or not, I’m going to tell the truth about who my parents are, but it would mean a lot to me if we could have you there.”

Fiona seemed nonplussed, blinking at him as she gathered her thoughts. “I…and your lady wife? Queen Melody, you would approve of this?” the look she shot Melody was so full of hope the queen nearly choked on the lump that formed in her throat.

“Look at where secrecy has gotten us. Look at this mess with the wardens, and how generations of secrets have turned them into villains.” She shook her head. “I would not have that of my family.”

Fiona gasped at the word, her hand darting up to the side of her face as though she needed to remind herself she was real. “Family. I have never known a true family.”

“It may not be conventional, but I promise it’s full of love.” Alistair told her, smiling at Melody with warmth and adoration. Melody moved around the table and pulled the pair of them into another embrace, holding her newest family member with glee, her heart fluttering at what it would mean. When all of this was over, they could all go home, and their children would have a grandmother. Fiona could know her son, and be a part of his life in a way she had never dreamed possible. Alistair could build on the family he had always longed to have. Together, all of them could fill the halls of the court with endless love, the kind of love that can only be had between people that are grateful that they found each other. Through shadow and darkness, through blood and fire, they had still managed to keep their hearts beating fast in their chests, alive enough to love one another when their paths finally crossed. It felt a little bit like fate, but a lot more like perseverance, and Melody was thrilled that they had made it this far.

 

***

 

The sun had risen roughly an hour ago, but the pale light did little to warm the frozen air around them. Cassandra could feel the moist cloud of steam rise with every breath that passed through her lips, and she was firmly ignoring the way the metal of her armor seemed to soak up the cold like a sponge tossed in the sea. She was grateful for the fur lining in her gloves, grateful further for the enchanted lining to her boots and leggings, but her mind was focused on more important matters than the temperatures that she was or wasn’t grateful for. She scanned the ground in front of them, her eyes straining to pick up another sign of human passage, hoping to see another clue on the meager trail they were trying to follow. Autumn was as smart as she was infuriating, and had left almost no proof of her journey. There were times where her careful masking had slipped, a footprint half buried in new snow, a tangle of red hair on a broken branch, but for the most part they were stumbling around the Frostbacks like blind nugs, praying that they were still following their absent leader.

At least, Cassandra was praying. She couldn’t speak on what Varric did during the long hours of silence that hovered between them, hours she spent desperately trying to ignore the fact that he was even there. It seemed she would be granted no such peace this morning.

“So do you actually know where you’re going, or are we chasing our tails here?” he drawled, shifting his shoulders so that the crossbow on his back rustled with a metallic click.

She tossed a glance at him over her shoulder, hardly turning her head. His hair had a golden glow to it as it caught the morning sun, and she scowled at it as though the very fact he existed offended her. She turned to face forward again, eyeing the shimmering ice on the trees, keeping her mouth shut rather than acknowledge the pointless question.

He walked up next to her and sighed heavily, and she watched the tendrils of fog float from his mouth before they dissipated in the nearly nonexistent stir of a breeze. “Come on, Seeker. You can’t ignore me the entire trip. Like it or not, we’re in this together.”

“I am trying to focus.” She said, the words clipped with irritation.

“Oh?” she turned to face him at the amusement in his voice, watching him smile smugly and arch an eyebrow at her. “Is that why you missed the footprints over here?” he pointed towards the ground to his right, and sure enough there were footprints only partially marred by slightly melted snow, mud still mixed in with the top layer of white proving that the tracks had to have been somewhat recent. She didn’t deign his facetious question with a response, but stomped over to examine the trail. They followed it silently until they were led into a small clearing, the ground a swirling mess of frozen dirt and snow.

“The way the mud is mixed into the snow indicates there might have been a fight here.” She murmured, her fingers moving to hover over the hilt of her blade, her eyes darting towards the bushes as though she expected the combatants to leap out at any moment. Part of her hoped that this trail had nothing to do with Autumn, but the ruthlessly logical part of her dismissed the wish almost immediately. If this wasn’t her trail that left them with less than nothing to go on, so even if the idea of Autumn having gotten into some kind of fight made her anxious in a way she almost couldn’t describe, at least they could say they were getting closer.

Varric leaned down, brushing snow aside carefully and lifting a crumpled black lump from underneath. He held it aloft, and Cassandra could clearly see the fingers of a dark leather glove. “Someone with tiny hands must have cold fingers by now.” He said, handing it over to her when she prompted.

She held it to her nose and took a deep breath, her heart lurching at the familiar acrid scent that proved her fears. “It’s hers.”

He snorted somewhat derisively, shaking his head. “What are you, a damn mabari? How do you know just from smelling it?”

She rolled her eyes and tossed it back to him. “It smells like the fade, fool.”

Varric smelled it himself, wrinkling his nose in reaction. “Huh, I never even realized the fade _had_ a smell, but this sure does smell like it, now that you mention it.”

She couldn’t help the arrogant pull of her lips quirking in a smile, accepting his impressed grin as graciously as she could. They turned then, fanning out to examine the area, Varric heading to the edge of the clearing while she tried to piece together what had happened by looking at the disarray in the middle. She bent down, one hand on her knee for balance as she used the other to sift through the snow and debris. She frowned as the motion turned up a new color, the damp blood still bright red as it caught the white rays from the sun. She dropped the snow, brushing her hand off on her pants, her fear of what had happened stirring within her a revulsion to the gore that she normally would not have had. Autumn was a capable fighter. She had always had a talent with her blades, but Cassandra had helped her train over the years to become something truly formidable. She could handle herself well enough in a fight, but there were an endless number of variables to this situation. She was alone, without the backup of a team she had grown very used to fighting with. How many attackers were there? How many could Autumn feasibly handle by herself before she would have been overcome? Was this her blood in the snow at her feet, or that of their enemies?

Varric’s voice carried heavily in the silent air, disrupting her somber reverie. “Hey Seeker, come look at this.”

She stood and made her way over to his position amid the thick, dry branches of bushes whose leaves still clung to their perches, surviving the cold with stubborn diligence. “Oh no.” she gasped.

“Yeah.” He agreed. They stared at the same spot on the ground, the familiar dagger still coated in blood as it lay half buried in ice. It proved that the Inquisitor had in fact been there, but it also proved she had not been the victor in the battle that had taken place. She grit her teeth, trying to think around the blood rushing in her ears. Were they too late? There was no body, but that did not mean that she wasn’t already dead, perhaps carted off as a trophy by whoever had managed to take her down. Did the fiends even know who they had? Was it possible Autumn had died alone in the woods with no one to even mourn her passing?

Without thinking she rolled her shoulder back and let loose a punch into the trunk of a tree, her knuckles impacting heavily with the wood. She felt the crack of one of her fingers snapping, breathing heavily as her body flooded with adrenaline, masking the pain with the pounding rhythm of her heart. She could feel herself trembling, and focused on how her muscles reacted rather than the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, trying to block out the images of her leader, no, her friend, dead because they had been too slow to save her. She closed her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming, filling her lungs with gulps of frigid air that seemed to freeze her from within.

“Feel better now?” Varric asked quietly, moving so that he stood in front of her.

She grimaced, opening her eyes to glare at him, wishing she at least had the presence of mind to lie. “Hardly.”

He held out his hand and she just stared at it, her fogged brain not comprehending what he wanted. He sighed heavily, thrusting his palm closer to her. “Give me your hand so I can make sure you didn’t break anything.”

“I’m pretty sure I broke at least one finger.” She relented with a shrug, letting him pull her hand towards him and remove the glove. She winced and sucked in a breath through her teeth at the pain it caused, her surge of frustration already wearing off enough for her to feel the sharp grind of the injury.

He shook his head, tucking her glove in the crook of his arm while he examined her. “Andraste’s ass. You need to find a better outlet for all that anger besides punching things.”

“I don’t recall asking your opinion.” She said icily.

“Look, this whole angry warrior made of steel who doesn’t need anybody act is getting really old. You need to learn to accept help from the people around you, or you’re gonna break a lot more than your hand.” He lectured. He reached into one of the many pockets within his coat and pulled out the trapping for a splint, carefully placing the soft wood against her finger, the flesh already starting to swell and turn purple.  She pulled out a potion from her own belt and uncorked it with her teeth, sipping at the substance within so that it could start mending the broken bone as quickly as possible.

“I’m responsible for too many people to leave things in the hands of others. I don’t have the luxury of passing my problems on.” She said, wincing as he wrapped soft gauze around her palm, the pressure creating a new wave of pain.

“You put too much on yourself. You really need to figure out that not everything that happens is your fault, and it isn’t your job to fix every problem in Thedas.” He grinned, trying to take the sting out of his words, but his attempt at kindness only served to make her feel worse. She resented the fact that he was lecturing her, resented the fact that he didn’t seem to be taking this seriously, resented the fact that he never took _anything_ seriously. Right now, above all else, she definitely resented _him_.

“Then whose job is it?” she asked, her voice trembling with barely suppressed irritation. “If not me, then who Varric?”

He frowned at her, clearly losing his patience. “Fuck Cass, you aren’t the center of the universe.”

Her jaw fell open and she gaped at him. “You think this is me being self-centered? You think I enjoy this?” she yanked her hand away from him, pulling the bandage along with it. She finished the wrapping herself with quick, jerking movements that hurt her hand. She ignored the pain and fixed him with another deep scowl. “At least I don’t dwell on the past and pine for people that moved on years ago.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying, and she immediately regretted them.

She clamped down on her tongue to prevent it from spewing any more treacherous vitriol, turning her gaze to the side. Her cheeks heated with shame, but she offered no apology for the outburst.

“You know what? Fuck you. That’s none of your business.” The hurt in his voice cut to her core, and she kept her eyes off of his face to keep herself from reacting to it.

“You’re right, it’s not. Come on, we don’t have much daylight left.” She stalked off to follow the now obvious trail, not looking behind to see if he followed. She heard him swear under his breath before his own stomping footsteps pursued her. She couldn't decide if she was relieved that he was staying or furious, and decided the best course of action would be to ignore all of the feelings altogether.

The rest of the morning was passed in agitated silence that did more to chill her bones than the temperature ever could have.


	33. It was Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we go underground, through the woods, and into the fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like you guys are getting two chapters this week too. :)

She could tell that they had passed underground. If you asked, Autumn would not have been able to explain quite HOW she knew that they had passed underground, since her sight was still carefully contained behind the thick cloth wrapped around her skull, but she still knew all the same. Perhaps it was the absence of any light hitting her skin, or the way the air coming through the woolen threads started to smell of dust, and decay, and things older and darker that almost certainly went bump in the night. Sounds eventually started to echo, the noises of her captors meeting strange rumblings and roars that seemed to rise out of depths that stretched straight into the void, deeper than any living creature could travel and still keep their lives. It reminded her of the peculiar sounds coming from the bottom of the Valammar, like a great beast was constantly prowling around just beyond the range of the light.

She wasn’t sure how long they had been underground before she heard the creak of door hinges being coaxed open, the rust on them so thick she could hear it breaking off and sifting to the floor as the ancient metal moved. She was dragged in and propped against a wall, her arms yanked forward so that they could chain her wrists to the ground. She couldn’t hold back the scream as her broken shoulder shifted, bones scraping against muscle and tendon that was swollen and bruised around the injury. Her back felt like it had been scraped raw from being dragged along the ground for what had to have been miles, and her head throbbed with a searing pain that radiated from the spot on her temple where the warden had struck her to knock her out. She swallowed back the tail end of her cry, her throat too raw to allow the outburst to continue, and she wondered if it would be too much to hope for a sip of water.

The bag over her head was pulled away abruptly and her eyes shied away from the bright light of too many torches held by the wardens surrounding her. She squinted and turned a way, ducking her head so that her hair covered her face and shielded her somewhat from the unexpected glow. When she felt the sting behind her lids fade she blinked hesitantly, raising her head to gaze at her captors. Cambria stood leaning against the wall, leering down at her like she were some sort of prize, a rare breed that had been captured to be put on display. Autumn reminded herself bitterly that the idea wasn’t all that far off from the truth, since they knew who she was.

She couldn’t make out the faces of the other wardens, who wore helms that shone ominously against the darkness, but she got a clear view of the small dwarven woman kneeling in front of her, meeting her gaze with shrewd scrutiny. She had blue eyes the color of the sky at high noon, ringed in a dark green makeup and thickly drawn tattoos, marked across her pale skin with purple ink. Her large nose was dotted with a smattering of freckles that looked strangely out of place when paired with her serious expression, and her rounded lips were pursed together so that the formed a thick line just above her chin. She had yellow hair that was cut in short waves, long bangs framing her square face so that she appeared to be gazing at Autumn through a tunnel of gold.

“I’m Yutte.” She announced before surreptitiously bringing a skin of water to Autumn’s lips. Autumn opened her mouth and allowed the dwarf to upend the container, the cool liquid tasting faintly of too many minerals as it coated the back of her parched tongue. A good portion dribbled down her chin as she swallowed greedily, eyeing Yutte warily. Finally she drew the water away, capping it and passing it behind her where one of the wardens stepped forward to take it without being prompted.

Autumn very carefully tugged at the chains around her wrists, testing their strength while still under the intense gaze. The metal creaked and she winced involuntarily, the heavy links shifting against her skin, and her shoulder protested the entire ordeal, pain lancing through her so that she was temporarily overcome with dizziness. It was all too much for her head and stomach to handle, and without warning she fell forward, vomiting at least half of the water back up and onto the dusty floor below. She coughed pitifully, closing her eyes and trying to breathe around the hideous pounding in every muscle.

“Is she going to be alright?” Yutte asked, glancing at Cambria. She spoke with clipped efficiency, a question that held no emotional concern for its subject.

“Apparently Inquisitor’s are made of weaker stuff than I thought.” Cambria sneered. “Nothing life threatening.” She added with a shrug.

Yutte turned back to her, those eyes eternally assessing all brought before them. “Tell me about the anchor.”

Autumn stared at her, keeping her mouth shut while she tried to decide if spitting in her face was an acceptable alternative to answering any of their questions. Then again, saying something nasty about her mother might serve her purposes well enough. She was never one to underestimate the sting of a good insult. She never got the chance to try either, however, as one of the wardens placed a forceful kick into the side of her hip. She cringed into the forming bruise, letting out a stuttering gasp of pain. It infuriated her that tears fell from the corners of her eyes, tears of pain and rage and helplessness that she wished had just stayed put in the tight little ball of loathing she had built up in her chest.

“You can make this a lot easier for yourself if you just cooperate.” Yutte told her, no hint of amusement in her monotone voice. “You can tell me about the mark, or I can make the discoveries myself. One way or another, I will get what I need.” The nonchalance of the threat was jarring, spoken as though she were listing ingredients for baked goods, as though cooperation were butter and the alternative was simply lard, and not a fate that promised to bring further pain than she was already experiencing.

“I never did like taking the easy way out.” Autumn told her, doing her best to sound flippant around the coarse rasp in her voice. She grinned, and the smile felt alien to her face, as though her body wanted to rebel against anything that wasn’t another grimace.

“Suit yourself.” Yutte said, standing and walking over to Cambria. “I’ll want her prepped and ready by morning. I need to prepare the lab.” She told the mage, and without further preamble stalked off down the corridor, a group of wardens following her without prompting to light her way.

Cambria sauntered forward, a grand smile stretching her cheeks. She gave a light skip before aiming another kick to Autumn’s stomach, and she doubled over wheezing in response. The world seemed to fade to a hazy black, sights and sounds filtering through the thick fog of miserable throbbing that wracked her tired bones. When she could focus again the wardens had gone, the door to the cell shut in front of her. Light filtered through from the hallway outside providing her a meager glow to see by. They had tossed a loaf of bread within her reach, the crust so covered with mold it could qualify as a vegetable at this point, which mattered little in the end since her stomach rolled at the very idea of trying to eat anything at the moment.

She relaxed against the stone pressed to her back, letting the cold of the bricks settle into her burning blood as she breathed in long, deliberate intervals. She tried to focus, to draw energy into the mark to see if she could perhaps use the power to break the chains, maybe escape and find somewhere to hide until her elf in shining mage robes arrived, but the only response she could coax out of the anchor was a sputtering trickle of energy that made her shoulder throb anew. She was too injured to be able to call forth anything useful from it, and so she opted to rest instead.

She listened to the steady cadence of the guards patrolling outside and imagined that she were somewhere else, surrounded by the friends she never should have left behind, and prayed she would live long enough to see them again.

 

***

 

The wolf pack following him kept their distance. He could feel their curiosity pressing against him, drawn to his magic and his will as he ran through the nearly endless woods. The sunlight slanted through the sparse leaves in the trees, drawing long shadows across the gold hewn ground beneath his feet. He could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears and his breath rattling around in his chest, ignoring the steady ache building up in his calves in favor of moving forward as fast as possible. He could hear the padded footfalls of the beasts around him, hear the birds trilling questions to the chilling wind, hear the branches of the oaks and pines as they danced the same steps they learned a hundred years ago when their roots had first curled through the soil. The harmony around him was beautiful, and on another day, at another time, would have been peaceful. But this day he detected the magic in the order of things only at the fringes of his senses, his mind occupied by the terrible fear that gripped his nerves.

He slowed, coming to a lurching stop as he realized his direction seemed off. He drew in a deep breath, letting his starved lungs feast for the moment as he stretched his aching limbs. The wolves stopped with him, stalking him with ears perked up, tall points of grey and black that asked him silent questions. Who was he, why was he in their woods, why did he bear the scent of their kin? These were the queries that lurked behind their rapt eyes, questions Solas had no interest in answering. They sensed his energy and a few among them keened, pawing at the ground in agitation.

_I agree, my wild friends_ , he thought, finding their anxiety a perfect reflection of his own. _I very much agree._

He closed his eyes and focused on his will. He felt it swirl around inside of him, almost too much power for one vessel, green and blue auras pulsing with potential. He concentrated on the magic that was his, although both sides belonged to him now. Yet Mythal’s powers still felt alien, and it would not help him in this moment. He needed _his_ essence, the part of himself that had been with him for thousands of years, the part of him that was connected to her by the mark carved into her delicate palm. It took a moment to separate, but then…there it was, a familiar rush of power bolstered by what he had stolen from his old friend. He let it flow from him, reaching out in every direction and permeating the dusky air. The wolves felt it and their keening became howling, a sad song ringing through the woods as they felt the full force of his fear and sorrow. He ignored them and their sympathy, letting his will move farther, outward and onward until he felt the gentle pull that was undeniably _her_ , faint and buried under heavy curtains of terror. He opened himself to her, and he could feel her heartbeat as though it fluttered in his chest, beating erratically in a rhythm he recognized from the many times he had healed her, the cadence that meant she was in pain, suffering physically as her body struggled to soldier on. He swallowed around the sting it caused him, forcing himself to pay attention to _where_ she was rather than _how_ she was, picking up the feel of her soul like the wolves around him picked up the scent of their prey on the winds.

He opened his eyes and began running again, changing his course slightly to match the trail his magic had exposed. He let the memory of the connection spur him on, running fast and hard again despite the protests of his fatigued limbs. The wolves moved with him, shadowing his harried flight, offering their moral support for one they considered their own. They would in time grow tired of the pursuit, their curiosity evaporating under the insistent urge to hunt, forgetting the strange elf that had smelled like old magic. Solas wished he had that luxury, the ability to fade into the wilderness and forget what it felt like to have an identity, to forget what it felt like to lay with her under a sky that silently judged him for his weak will and follies.

Solas could not forget, and so he ran on, racing towards her salvation and his own despair as fast as his feet could carry him.

 

***

 

Lilly knew where she was with a certainty that burned a hole through her chest, her heart fluttering against the confines of her ribs as she turned and looked upon the bowing branches, the couch whose cushions had layers of padding for her comfort, a clearing that had been built by a spirit as she slowly turned him into a monster. She hadn’t been here for a long time, Justice having no desire to speak with her since even before they had left Weisshaupt. Getting to know her no longer served a purpose, and the spirit had been content to exist separately from the relationship between Anders and herself since he had accomplished his goals of mage freedom.

But there he was, sitting on the couch as though nothing at all had changed between them. As though he hadn’t tried to kill Anders, to kill _her_ , and burn the world down in his self-righteous rage. She remained where she was, standing several paces away from him, wary of the energy rippling off of his form. It was him, his presence undeniable as it lingered there, but something about it felt different. There was an air about the place, much like the first gust of wind foretelling the growing storm on the horizon, that first scent of rain that hit the senses before the sky darkened and the thunder roared. More than that though, more than the ominous charge rolling off of him, there was an underlying _wrongness_ to him, something off that made him so much more sinister than she had ever remembered. Perhaps it was the memories of his hands wrapped around her throat, but something told her it was more than just base fear, her instincts lighting up with alarm in reaction to whatever it was.

She approached him slowly, each step bringing her closer and making her feel like she was wading through a thick fog of danger, clinging to her skin and weighing her down the longer she remained. When she was close enough to fully see him she wanted to scream, but the sinking distress settling in her belly had frozen the breath in her lungs, and all she managed was a strangled gasp.

In all the times she had seen him in the fade, Justice had never truly had a face. His form was ethereal, shifting in the general shape of a man, but never did it have features. The creature sitting before her, however, had eyes like black pits with bright blue centers, and a mouth that stretched into a hideous grin as he stared at her, the lips spreading wider than any human face could have managed. He shared some of the same features with Anders, the same angled jaw line and sloped nose, but everything else was mangled into something that felt conjured out of her very darkest nightmares, summoned from the depths of the void to torture her in this once peaceful dreamscape.

“I found you.” He declared, the triumph in his voice leaving a bitter taste in the back of her throat.

“What do you want, demon?” she shot back, her words couched in the seething anger she felt towards the source of her love’s torment. A small part of her mind cried out, warning her against antagonizing him while in his realm, warning her that the Fade was not the place to fight her battles, but that sensible voice was silenced by the all-consuming hatred, the desire to make him pay for what he had done to the tatters of a life she had managed to put together in the aftermath of Lothering.

“You dare? You who would turn a man from a worthy purpose to satisfy your own base sexual desires. You dare to fling insults at _me_?” he growled, his eyes glittering like angry stars as the light around them seemed to dim.

She recoiled from the assertion involuntarily, the words hurting more than they had any right to. “Sexual desires? You know better than that. If you want to insult me you’re going to have to do better than that.” She bluffed, swallowing the deep resentment for the moment so she could lift her chin in defiance.

Justice laughed, and it was the most nightmarish laugh Lilly had ever heard, the sound of poison rolling over boiling stones, hissing and murky and full of death. “Insult you? I do not want to insult you.” He stood and moved towards her, his steps killing the budding grass beneath his feet. “I want to break you, I want to take everything that you hold within yourself and drag it to the ends of the fade.” The air around them started to smell of decay, old dust and older bones left in a mire of festering rage. He sidled up next to her and loomed closely, his energy raising the hair on her skin. “I want to see you on your knees begging for mercy, begging for forgiveness for your lack of honor. I want to HURT you, to punish you for every moment that you have taken from me, every moment you kept Anders and myself from pursuing our purpose.”

She swallowed, fisting her hands and digging her nails into her palms to quell the shaking that was rolling out from the base of her spine. “You can’t. You can’t break me.” She was so proud of how smooth the words sounded, even if they rang as hollow as rotten wood.

“Are you certain?” he whispered, and he made to grab her but Lilly didn’t give him the chance, dancing out of his clutching claws nimbly and taking off in a random direction, not knowing if there was even an avenue of escape in the now distorted clearing. The sky seemed to be melting, the robin’s egg blue dripping down walls that hadn’t even existed before to reveal black iron and rusted steel. She noticed a door several paces in front of her, and remembering Varric’s tale of how doors worked in the fade she made her way towards it, not daring to look back and see if Justice followed.

The knob was hot like a coal thrown from the kiln, but she grabbed it and turned the handle, shoving it open with all her might. She stumbled through, slamming it behind her, but it made no sound as the entire structure promptly disappeared.

Her breath came in slightly ragged gasps as she looked around, greeted by giant bronze statues and dusty orange bricks of clay that brought back a flood or horrible memories she desperately wanted to forget. The courtyard of the Gallows stood, defiantly unharmed by the uprising she had led, every brick still in place despite her recollection of half of them being shattered when the bronze statues had come to life. Justice stood in the center, his arms wrapped firmly around a body she knew better than her own, his head lolling so that his fine blonde hair spilled over a vibrating blue shoulder.

“Anders…” she gasped, holding her hand out automatically, reaching towards him despite the fact he was yards away. He gave no response, did not stir at the sound of her voice, and she stumbled a step forward, curling her fingers inward as her hand started to shake. “ _Anders!_ ” she screamed, unsure of what else she could do, her mind swirling with black dread that tore her logic straight out of her head.

“He cannot hear you.” Justice purred. “He is awake, and so his mind is not with us in the fade. But I, I have found a way here without him. You think to keep me subdued, but I will not be contained. I have found a way to get to you, and I will have my vengeance.” The horrible lips stretched wide again in a mockery of a smile, and she could see rows of blood red teeth hiding within. “Are you still so certain I cannot break you?”

She saw him pull the blade from nowhere, materializing in his distorted hands without so much as a word from him, and she ran forward knowing full well she would be unable to reach them in time. She watched, as her feet slammed against the façade of the stone ground, as Justice drew the blade across Anders neck, splitting his skin so that his beautiful life slid down his front like so much spilled wine. She screamed, loud enough to wake the ghosts that lay beneath the real city of Kirkwall, and Justice dropped

Anders’ limp corpse to the ground, his grotesque laugh echoing loudly in her ears.

Her screams were what woke her, sheets plastered to her skin from the thick rivulets of sweat covering her body. She kept screaming for a moment as she bolted upright, her eyes still seeing the horror of the nightmare and not taking in the simple surroundings of her room. The door burst open and two guards rushed in, panic on their faces as they waved drawn blades at the empty chamber.

She swallowed her shrieks and took a deep breath, her heart a hammer in her chest, pounding her fear into a solid blade she could wield against the pain. She tossed off the covers, bearing her pant-less legs as she stood in nothing more than a thin t-shirt and her smalls, heedless of what the guards saw.

“My lady, what’s the problem?” one of them asked, but she ignored him, pushing past them and out the door, running down the hallway. The booted cadence behind her told her that they followed, but if they asked any further questions she did not hear.

She made her way across the courtyard with the vision of Anders flowing blood still tattooed behind her eyes, ignoring the looks of those on duty that she passed. The night was frigid and bit at her exposed skin, her bare feet picking up mud and grass as she rushed to the door she needed to open. She ignored all of it, her brain at a full stop, unable to run any other thought processes besides getting to him. She was down the steps and in the dungeon before she knew it, feet soaked and grimy, leaving a trail of mud across the room. She didn’t let herself breathe until she reached the bars of the cell, gripping them and staring at the man seated on the cot within.

He lifted his head and looked about to speak, but upon seeing the state she was in he closed the book he had been reading and stood immediately, moving to the bars to wrap his hands around hers.

“What is it? What’s happened?” he asked, her own fear reflected back at her in his golden brown eyes. She sighed heavily, pressing her forehead against the cool metal and sagging her shoulders, barely holding herself up as the relief made her knees want to buckle. The sound of his voice was like a soothing balm, spread across the memory of the nightmare to close the gaping wound of her terror. His fingertips brushed against hers, warm and gentle and perfect, and for a minute she pretended that everything was already okay, that all of their problems were gone and it was just her and him, standing together with nothing left between them but love. “Lilly, talk to me, what’s wrong?” he asked, and her breath hitched as the moment of relief passed back into despair, the reality that nothing had changed sinking back into her weary bones.

She looked up at him and the truth danced at the tip of her tongue, but the dark circles under his eyes stayed her lips. He was tired, she could see it in the set of his shoulders, see it in the shadows on his too gaunt face, and see it in the way his lips trembled as he looked at her intensely. He was doing what he could to stay put together, and he was doing it just fine without her. He didn’t need this, didn’t need the added burden of knowing what Justice had done. He didn’t want her around to see his pain, and so she would match that courtesy, and hide her pain from him. She could keep this truth to herself, and she could tell herself it was for his own good, that she was keeping him from another thing he could stack on his eternal pile of things to be guilty for, but she knew deep down that wasn’t why she would lie. She would lie to spite him, to keep a piece of herself back on purpose, because he would know that she had. He would know the lie and not understand, and he would be too afraid to reach across the wall he’d built around himself to find out why she would do it.

“Nothing’s wrong.” She told him flatly. She disentangled their hands and backed away, wrapping her arms around herself like armor, blocking out the cold that felt like it came from within her own heart. “It was nothing.” He looked at her, and she knew that he felt the blow, knew that it had hit him with as much force as she had received every time he pushed her away. It brought her less satisfaction than she had wished.

“Lilly…” the sorrow in his voice was too much for her to handle, and she turned her back to him, walking out of the dungeon and pretending she was fine. She was good at that, pretending that nothing at all was wrong, that she was happy just surviving day in and day out. She was good at soldiering on despite the gaping hole in the middle of her soul, despite the joy sucking chasm that she carried around in her heart. She held her head up high as she walked back to her room, continuing to ignore the guard’s very curious glances.

She didn’t let herself cry until she was safely behind her closed door again.


	34. The Chains of Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen reflects on just how terrible things feel, Fenris tries to help, and Bryce gets invited to a thing.

_Dear Inquisition,_

_It is with a heavy heart that I reach out to you in order to formally request assistance._  
_Our city has been plagued with unrest as of late, with wardens stirring up the ire of our earnest people. We have dealt with several riots, and our city guard, along with those who have been kind enough to work with them, seem to be insufficient in containing the problems and calming things down._  
_My hope is that you will have someone among you that can provide us with some form of aid._

_Respectfully,_  
_Eamon Guerrin,_  
_Regent to the King of Ferelden_

 

***

 

Cullen had been awake hours before it was actually time to rise, staring at the ceiling above his bed to avoid glaring at the empty space beside him. At some point during his quiet brooding a headache had developed, and as he sat up to finally prepare for the day it felt like some heavy creature had been set loose inside his skull, scrabbling around in rhythm that matched his overworked heart. He dressed quickly as the night sky slowly faded to grey, the stars disappearing in the approaching dawn. He scrubbed at his face but skipped shaving, too tired to care about the layer of stubble that shadowed his chin. He grabbed the stack of notes containing the information he would need for the day and made his way down the stairs, throwing open the door and bracing himself mentally for the tasks that were ahead of him. He tried not to allow his hopes to get too high for any news, but his heart still held a spirit too young for his years by half, and he couldn’t help but imagine how good it would feel to hear news of his wife.

He was stopped short when a hand thrust out in front of him, bumping into his chest as he very nearly walked straight by the soldier without even seeing him. Cullen glanced down at the gloved fingers curled around something curved and green, a sweet aroma drifting up to tickle the bottom of his nose. He looked at the owner of the limb, and Bryce gave him a broad smile that was full of familiar ease. Cullen took the fruit from his grip, turning the pear over in his own hands as though he had never seen one before, perplexed as to why it had been presented to him in such a way.

“What’s this for?” he asked finally.

“I think people generally eat them, ser.” Bryce quipped, to his credit maintaining the relaxed grin without looking smug.

Cullen furrowed his brows at him but couldn’t quite suppress the twitch of a smirk on his lips. “Would you care to reconsider that answer before I decide to reassign you for the day?”

His smile slipped and melted into a small frown in the blink of an eye. “You’ve not touched any food for the past few days, ser. I thought perhaps you might eat if I gave you something portable.”

Cullen looked from the worry in the man’s eyes down to the pear, small and soft in his leather bound hands. He hadn’t even realized he was hungry until it was pointed out to him, so mired in his own misery that it was hard to notice the protests of his own body. Then again, he had gotten very adept over the years at ignoring what his body told him, starting first with his trauma at Kinloch and continuing on through the years, particularly when he was dealing with the lyrium withdrawals, where every signal his body gave was a campaign to give into the addiction.

He gave Bryce a smile that for the first time in days didn’t feel forced at all. “Thank you, Friedman. As you were.”

“Ser.” Bryce gave a curt nod and a salute, returning to attention at his post.

Cullen took a bite of the pear as he made his way down the numerous steps towards the great hall, the juice from the slightly over-ripe fruit spilling over his lips and running down his chin. He grinned like a little boy as he wiped it away, the sweetness on his tongue doing more to wake him up and cheer him than he would have thought possible. It did little to alleviate the pounding in his head, but it was a welcome improvement over being miserable _and_ hungry, or at least his stomach seemed to think so.

When he reached the war council room he opened the door, and for once being the last one to arrive he was greeted by the anxious faces of everyone gathered, as well as Alistair’s swarthy grin. That man never seemed to take anything seriously, Cullen mused to himself.

“Good morning, Commander.” Josephine nervously tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, her eyes searching his face as though looking for the cracks that would signal his crumbling. “How are you today?”

The question was loaded, and they all knew it, but he waved it off with a flick of the hand still holding the last remnants of the pear. “Fine, fine.” He finished off the fruit and tossed it into the wastebin tucked unobtrusively in the corner, setting his stack of papers on the table and giving them all the warmest smile he could muster. “Anything to report?” he hated how hopeful his voice sounded, but couldn’t help the jagged spear of wishful thinking that worked its way through his heart. Perhaps _this_ day would be the day.

“My scouts report no sign of the Inquisitor anywhere.” Vivienne told him softly, in the gentlest way she could have let him down. He tried desperately to ignore the way the lack of information made him feel hollow and derelict. She gave him a moment to collect himself before clearing her throat, shuffling the papers in front of her until she found what she needed, pulling the sheet out with her long, graceful fingers. “However, I have taken the liberty of compiling a summary of all the reports I have received regarding warden activity.” She handed him the paper and continued speaking as he glanced over the contents. “As you can see, groups of wardens not affiliated with the Inquisition have been spotted all throughout Ferelden and Orlais, with increasing frequency and numbers.”

He frowned, taking note of the widespread locations in the reports. “No aggression?”

“Nothing yet, but I would not place any bets on that lasting much longer.” She scowled over her own dire prediction, crossing her arms over her chest as though she could glare the problems away.

“We could send more troops to fortify our outposts,” he scratched at the stubble beneath his chin, pondering the issue, “but it could weaken the strength we have here, which would leave us open to being attacked should they send any forces this way.”

“If they are wise they already have people watching our location. They would know if the numbers in the general ranks thinned.” Vivienne agreed.

Melody leaned forward, her palms flat on the table. “Wait, what if we used that?”

“Goad them into a direct attack?” Vivienne said, one of her brows rising in curiosity.

The queen stood up straight, holding her hands out to them. “Hear me out. We send just enough troops out to make sure the wardens notice we’re on the move, but keep a good portion here, re-stationing them from the camp outside to somewhere within the walls.”

“They ignore the more vulnerable outposts in favor of taking advantage of catching us unguarded, and we have the opportunity to see it coming and surprise them with our numbers.” Cullen nodded his agreement. “That could work.”

“Probably better than letting them decimate your outposts one by one.” Alistair added airily.

“Do we have the space to accommodate everyone within the walls?” Vivienne was already leaning over making furious little notes on a blank sheet of paper.

Josephine smirked, and something in her expression led Cullen to believe she considered the prospect too small a challenge for her skills. “It can certainly be arranged. There were levels beneath the great hall excavated recently. I could have them ready to house people within the week.”

“Do it then. I’ll inform our captains as soon as we’re done here.” Cullen told her.

“ _Are_ we done here? Because it’s been years since I was allowed to avoid endless meetings with nobles, and I fully intend to take advantage of this unexpected plus side to being driven out of my home.” Alistair said, grinning and wrapping an arm around his wife, who rolled her eyes even as she smiled back at him.

Josephine cleared her throat rather pointedly, calling their attention back to her. “Actually, I received an interesting letter for you this morning, your majesties.” She produced a folded parchment from one of the pockets of her flowery blouse, handing it over with a small flourish. “It is addressed to the Inquisition, but I am quite certain the message was intended for you.”

Melody took the letter, reading it carefully while her eyes grew gradually wider. “Riots? For Andraste’s sake, what else could possibly go wrong?”

Alistair frowned at her as he read over her shoulder. “Didn’t we learn our lesson about asking those sorts of questions back in Orzammar?”

She ignored him, chewing on her lower lip nervously. “They need help. I should go…maybe I can get the people to calm back down.”

“Absolutely not.” Alistair insisted, his voice a firm order as he scowled down at the letter.

“We can’t just let this…this…crazed imbecile rile our people like this!” she waved the letter about, the paper crinkling as it bent under the abuse.

“Look, if it was too dangerous for me to remain in Denerim, I am going to have to insist it’s also too dangerous for _you_ , love.” Alistair retorted, plucking the letter from her grasp before she tore it to pieces in her frenzy.

She opened her mouth to argue further, but Cullen decided to head off the protest before she could start it. “He’s right. Going back now would ruin whatever target we tried to paint on Skyhold. We’d just as well serve you up to the wardens on a platter.”

She deflated with a massive sigh, grimacing as she realized she wouldn’t be winning this debate. “Then what should we do? Send troops? If Eamon is asking for help it’s not something we should ignore.”

Vivienne gave the room a feline smile, her dark eyes glittering with triumph. “Perhaps our assistance should be somewhat more…subtle?”

“I’m listening.” Melody said.

“Sera has a history in Denerim, and she has fairly reliable contacts within the Red Jenny network there. I propose we send her, which should give your people all the help they need without putting you or your city in any undue danger.” She explained.

Alistair looked slightly alarmed at the prospect. “Wait, isn’t Sera the one that carries around jars of angry _bees_?”

Vivienne laughed softly. “I can assure you she is more competent than she looks.”

“That’s high praise coming from you.” Cullen teased, unable to resist poking fun at the very unlikely partnership that had arisen between the two.

“My dear, _high_ praise is the only kind of praise I give.”

Josephine giggled before flipping a page on her clipboard, her quill moving with a quick rhythm as she wrote. “I’ll send word back to your people to expect her.” She glanced up again, smiling graciously. “Was there any further news this morning?”

When all present shook their heads in the negative, Cullen let out a small breath. “Very well,” he told them, “you all know where to find me if you need me.” He grabbed his stack of papers and began to walk towards the door before pausing, turning back to the spymaster. “And Madame Vivienne – ”

“I know, dear. If I hear anything about her, you will be the very first to know.” Her voice was soft and emphatic again, and it brought up all the pain of his disappointment like a slowly cresting tidal wave.

“Thank you.” He managed, before he all but ran out of the room.

His headache and dashed hopes had erased the brief moment of joy he’d gotten from his harried breakfast, and he felt a surge of too many emotions well up in his chest as he made his way to his office. It was still early, and the wind dancing across the tops of the battlements was cold enough that it should have cleared his head, but all it managed today was to numb the tip of his nose. He rushed through the door to the room, shutting it behind him with the vain hope that he could shut out his worries as easily as he did the breeze, but it seemed he would have no such luck this morning. Too many thoughts collided on the inside of his head, a chaotic rush of what ifs and unknowns that made him feel as though he were sinking into a deep fog, choking the breath from his lungs and clouding his vision.

No news. Another day, and no news. Every hour that went by was another handful of miles she could have traveled, another collection of minutes cobbled together that took her further and further away from him. Worse yet, now they knew there were wardens crawling all over the countryside, any number of unpredictable people that could come across the lone traveler unexpectedly. Was she safe? Was she far enough away already to be out of danger? Or, and this possibility chilled him straight to the bone, was she close by and captured? Deserted and hurt without any way to reach them because the foolish, foolish woman thought she could handle everything on her own…

He felt helpless, trapped in his fear as though each one of the horrible possibilities he brought to mind were like a link in a heavy chain, wrapped around his limbs and holding him down. His duty welded them shut, seared them to his skin so it was impossible to tell where the prison ended and the man began. Duty to the Inquisition, duty to Anders, duty to all of their friends that relied on him to hold it together. All of it was bearing down on his shoulders, too heavy to lift, too heavy to run away. It always came down to that, though, didn’t it? It was always his sense of purpose, his attachment to burden, that proved the source of his downfall. No matter what he did it seemed to come back to that, punished for holding sacred the trusts placed in him. The jail he found himself in now resembled that of the dark corners in the circle tower, it echoed of the shrewd scrutiny of Meredith, if felt as bitter as the whispering siren song of lyrium.

He paced the length of his office like a caged monster, feeling every bit the rabid beast. Too close, this feeling burning behind his eyes like a light too bright to behold, to close was this sensation to all the horrors of his past. Too close was the looming threat of unspeakable loss, of having everything he held sacred wiped away once more to leave him a broken shell of a man. How many times could a person lose everything and start anew? How many times would duty bring him to his knees and hobble his trust, leaving him begging for the sweet release of the endless void? Cullen had been wiped clean once, twice, three times before, cleansed by the fires of tragedy until he was empty, forced to fill himself again with new meaning. _This_ time was supposed to be the last time, _she_ was supposed to be his salvation. And she was, oh how she was, his everything wrapped up in stubborn sarcasm, his rose with thorns that had saved them all. She was his dawn, the sweet kiss of sunlight on a man too long left in darkness, the love that had healed scars on his heart he had been convinced would forever bleed. What would he do…if she were lost to him?

He wasn’t aware he had thrown the punch until his fist connected with the side of the shelf, sending books bouncing onto the floor as pain lanced across his knuckles. His breath came in heaving gasps, and he shut his mouth and let the air pass through his nose, trying to control the profound panic that made the edges of his vision turn black. He closed his eyes and took a deep, measured breath, moving his hand to shake it out as it throbbed in time with his steadily slowing heart.

The low chuckle was very nearly a growl, and he started, glancing over to the door on the other side of the room to see Fenris leaning against the frame, a bitter smirk on his face.

“Rough morning?” he asked, dipping his head in a curt greeting.

Cullen stared at his hand, avoiding the curious green eyes. “Rough…everything.” He took off his gloves, tossing them irritably onto the surface of the cluttered desk, scowling at his rapidly bruising knuckles. He flexed his fingers, and while it stung nothing appeared to be broken, which was a blessing that didn’t seem to fit the pattern of his luck lately. The sloshing of liquid caught his attention, and he glanced up once more. Fenris waved a bottle of wine at him for a moment before tossing it in his direction. Cullen caught it midair and felt the chill of the glass, the wine inside icy cold. He raised a brow at his old friend, attempting a smile that died before it got past more than a twitch on his lips.

“It’s a little early for drinking.” He stated.

Fenris tossed his head so that his hair shifted away from his eyes, giving Cullen a full view of his exasperated expression. “Put it on your fingers, to keep them from swelling so you don’t have to go to a healer and explain how your bookshelf offended you.”

He placed the bottle against his throbbing knuckles, shaking his head. “Were it so simple.”

“They do make things difficult, don’t they?” Fenris chuckled again, moving to walk across the room and lean against the desk. Cullen gave him another questioning look, and Fenris smiled. “Our willful women.”

The laugh that poured out of him was more bitter than he intended, but also more honest by half. “Am I that transparent?”

“No, but I know you.” Fenris shrugged. “Plus Isabela has put that look on my face a time or two.”

“Oh? Has she ever run off without telling anyone after declaring war with an order of heroes?” he shot back sarcastically.

“Not specifically, no. But she once jumped overboard in the middle of an aggressive boarding from Rivaini marine officials.”

“Just…jumped? Over the edge?” Cullen asked.

Fenris made a diving motion with his hand. “Straight into the sea. We found her three days later in a tavern on the coast, drunk and covered in salt from all the dried seawater.”

Cullen snorted. “Sounds like her.”

“I was so angry at her. Leaving us to deal with those officials without a clue as to why. I spent the entire night pacing around the deck, wishing I had something to kill just so I could release some of my rage. It didn’t make any sense that she would just leave like that without saying a word.” He laughed, a crooked smile on his face as his eyes glazed over with remembrance. “When we found her I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill her or marry her. I suppose you can guess which one I picked.”

“Clearly.” Cullen smirked. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but I don’t think-“

Fenris cut off his words like he hadn’t heard him, continuing as though he hadn’t been interrupted at all. “When I talked to her that night she told me that she knew the official that was inspecting the ship, had some unpleasant run ins with him in the past, and if she’d been around it would have meant trouble for all of us. So, she did the only thing she could think of doing: tossed herself into the ocean and swam all the way to the shore. All so we could deal with the officials without a fight.”

“Hmph.” Cullen grunted, slightly nonplussed as to where the elf was going with his tale.

Fenris reached over and took the bottle back, uncorking it and taking a sip. “My point, Curly, is that even though I didn’t understand it at the time, she had her reasons, and if I had just trusted her I could have saved myself a lot of heartache.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust her. I just…”

“Wished she would have trusted you?” Fenris smirked as he finished Cullen’s half formed thought for him. “I have not met your Inquisitor, but I’m sure that she has her reasons for doing things the way she did. Stop punishing yourself for failing her when you don’t even know that you did.” Fenris clapped him on the back, handing him the wine bottle again.

Cullen stared at the unassuming glass, wishing that he didn’t want so badly to down its contents. “Thanks, Fen.” He said, grateful for the attempt to help him, even if its effectiveness was minuscule.

“Anytime, Curly.” He moved forward, walking with a strange fluidity that always seemed to be unique to Fenris, a grace that came from a life of fighting forced on a beautiful soul.

Cullen took a long pull of the wine as he watched him leave, wishing that trust was enough to make him feel better. He did trust her, he truly did, and he DID forgive her for not trusting him. Fenris was right, she surely had her reasons, and he would find them out in time.

But the chains of duty were heavy indeed, and the fear of losing everything all over again was a pain his armor could not block, and so he would remain in his prison of misery until she returned, awaiting the dawn to set him free.

 

***

 

Bryce sighed, trying not to feel miserable as he nursed the mug of ale, staring balefully at the chip on the rim of the glass. It was barely noon, and he had hardly had anything to do today, but already it felt like the sun had been hovering in the sky for far too long. The Commander spent his days walking around like a ghost, looking almost as terrible as he had when he’d been kicking the lyrium habit. This put all the soldiers on edge, so that it felt like everybody in the bloody keep was on high alert, ready to jump to action for so much as a pin drop. Not a single person he had talked to bought the story that the Inquisitor was out on a routine mission with the Seeker and Varric. The way the advisors neck muscles coiled with tension just added fuel to the rumor mill, and half the troops were convinced she’d been kidnapped, while the others were convinced Andraste had called her Herald back to the Maker’s side.

Bryce was far too practical to believe either story, but he was savvy enough to know _something_ out of the ordinary was going on, and he only hoped it wasn’t as dire as the higher ups made it feel. He lifted his mug, tipping back a sip of the bitter drink, warm from sitting in the cup too long while he was lost in his own anxious thoughts.

Lithe fingers worked their way up the sides of his shoulders to tug at his earlobes, and he choked on the ale, coughing in sputtering as he turned around to the cackling culprit. Sera nearly toppled over as she laughed at his reaction, holding her sides as her giggles bubbled like the fizz from a glass of champagne.

“Maker, Sera, are you trying to scare me to death?” he scowled and tried to mop up the mess all over the front of his breastplate.

She tugged his earlobe again, almost painfully. “More like scare you wet, and that’s LADY Sera to you!” She slapped him on the back, bringing on another fit of coughing as his breath hitched from the force of the hit. “Come on drippy, get your things. We’re going on a field trip!”

Bryce turned sharply to stare at her. “Wait, what? Going? Where are we going?”

“Madame Ice-tits has work for me to do, and I’m bringing you with me.” She declared, picking up a coin Bryce had left on the table and flipping it into the air.

“Why me? I mean, shouldn’t I stay here in case the Inquisitor gets back early?”

Sera rolled her eyes, as though his questions were entirely too boring to be worth her time. “Well, _you_ , because you see people. And not in the ‘oh look that man has a hat’ kind of way, the real kind of way. You see the people _under_ the hat. Or whatever.” She frowned for half a second before internally dismissing the train of thought, leaning in close to him. “And I know you’re worried about Quizbits, but that’s no reason to sit around and mope.”

Bryce ignored the heat rushing to his cheeks over being read so easily. “Where are we going?”

“Aren’t all you soldier types supposed to follow orders without questions?” She put her hands on her hips, looking down her nose at him. He glared at her and she laughed again, making him feel like he was no more imposing than a kitten.

“Ever been to Denerim, Bryce?”

“Denerim? We’re going to Denerim?” he blinked at her.

“Yeah, s’what I said. Now go get your things and tail it to the stables. I’ll explain more on the road.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands before nimbly hopping onto the tabletop. She crouched down for a brief moment before launching herself upward to grab hold of a wooden beam, using it as leverage to swing herself up and over the railing on the second floor, landing after a rather impressive somersault before disappearing into her room.

He was at least glad he would get to do something, because all the waiting around for the bad news to be announced might have eventually done him in. He only hoped whatever was going on would all be resolved by the time he got back.


	35. He Knew He Should Apologize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassandra and Varric continue following Autumn's trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there might be more delays incoming because I am writing ANOTHER novella for a different publisher that is doing open calls for unsolicited works. Because I am apparently a glutton for punishment. 
> 
> BUT, here is this week's chapter. Please enjoy your weekly dose of action and angst.

Varric was definitely getting too old for this shit.

He’d spent far too many days of his life traipsing around after women who were angry for one reason or another. Bianca had always been angry at their families. Lilly was usually angry at Anders. Or the Arishok. Or Templars. Or Kirkwall in general. Hummingbird had been angry at the world at large, although he couldn’t rightly blame her for that one. And now? Now he found himself right alongside perhaps the angriest woman he had ever known, and somehow it had worked out that she was angry at _him_ specifically, despite numerous other possibilities available to her.

This had been a mistake. Now that he thought back, he couldn’t really figure out why he had jumped up and volunteered to be the one to go. His past self really had no ability for forethought, apparently, because his current self couldn’t understand how he hadn’t seen all of this hostility coming. At the time it had made perfect sense, been easy even. There hadn’t been a shadow of a doubt that going with her was the right thing to do. Now he was freezing, tired, and constantly having to point Cassandra in the right direction because she was either terrible at tracking or too upset to follow the trail properly. The real kicker was that for all his efforts he was only rewarded with an increasingly sour-faced woman who was more likely to snap his neck than thank him.

He watched as Cassandra veered off in the wrong direction again, scowling as fiercely as a bear on fire in the middle of summer in Orlais. He sighed internally, letting his shoulders sag in defeat while he mentally prepared for her reaction when he corrected her. This situation just got better and better as time dragged on. Really, truly, he needed to figure out how he kept getting himself into these situations.

“Seeker, I think the trail goes this way.” He pointed in the proper direction helpfully, and he was proud of the fact that he didn’t wince when she rounded on him. She glared for a moment before starting to move on the course he indicated, but as she took her first steps her mouth fell open. He glanced back and scanned the thick bushes, squinting to see whatever it was he had missed. It took him a moment, but he finally caught it, the great dark maw of a cavern carved right into the mountainside, covered with brush in a way that was almost certainly deliberate.

“It leads in there, doesn’t it?” she asked, and he knew she was talking about the trail. He only bothered to nod in response, and they both crept forward as quietly as they could, wary of what might be waiting inside.

With a long, tan arm Cassandra reached out and pulled aside the branches placed in front of the opening, and Varric’s heart did an unpleasant little dance inside of his chest. It wasn’t a cave, it was a _door_ , and by the look of it one of dwarven make. Just beyond the threshold stood an unwavering darkness, filled with the distant echoes of the ever-moving nightmares underneath the surface.

“Great, just what we needed.” He mumbled, kicking a small rock so that it rolled across the tile. He could see a thin smear of blood spread across the floor, the continuation of the trail that they had been following, and it gave him the urge to smash something. The idea of Hummingbird being dragged underground, hurt and bleeding, was enough to make his stomach roll. The fact that they now had to follow her down there made it even worse.

“I do not like this.” Cassandra eyed the darkness before them as though she expected it to get up and leave if she stared hard enough.

“Right, because you’ve been in love with everything up until this point.” He said.

She glared at him before shucking off her pack and digging out a torch, lighting it with a quick spark from a flint. She held up the blazing wand, and with only an ounce of hesitation strode forward into the entrance of what looked to be an old Thaig. Varric sighed, audibly this time, and followed.

The air quality quickly degenerated as they moved into the tunnels, crumbling doorways shooting off into different directions, all of them filled with the stale scent of rotted stone and rusted metal. Sounds echoed around them, but whatever made them stayed beyond the reach of the flickering light, forever dark figments of their imaginations that refused to be made real. Contrary to the assumptions often made by the small minded, Varric hated being underground. Yes, he was a dwarf, but he had learned early on in life that meant approximately nothing when you had been born beneath the pale blue sky rather than miles of cold stone. He’d known it since he was little, proved it when he’d gone on that ill-fated expedition with Hawke, and triple confirmed it during their adventures through Valammar to fix what Bianca had ruined.

Bianca. Now there was a topic he wished he never had to think about again. He had thought he would always love her. When they were young and naïve he had thought he found the one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and that nothing could stand in their way, not families or politics or anything in between. When the hammer finally fell and she was betrothed to another man, he was prepared to give up _everything_ so that they could be together. He’d spent the last of what little coin he had arranging the small wedding. He’d gotten her a bouquet of those little blue flowers she loved so much, worn the closest thing he could find to a dress suit, and even found little bronze rings that they could exchange. It wasn’t fancy, but he remembered standing there and feeling overwhelmed with joy because it was _their_ wedding, and that meant so much more to him than extravagance.

And then he stood there longer, and his joy turned to acid eating away at his heart as the minutes ticked by. He stood there long after he should have given up and left, long after his heart had broken and lay in pieces at his feet, long after the guy he’d paid to officiate had giving him a look of pity and gone home. It was the most alone Varric had ever felt in his entire life, and the only way he survived was pushing the memory into the back of his mind and never thinking about it again.

She’d gone on to marry what’s-his-name, and Varric had believed her when she told him she only did it to keep their families happy. He’d believed her when she said she would always love him, and he always made room for her in his life when she managed to come visit. A thousand letters full of longing were passed between them, and he always told himself that _that_ would be enough for him. Even if it made him want to swallow poison every time he saw how happy Hawke and Blondie were. Even if it made him want to throw himself into the deepest pit when he saw the look on Broody’s face when Rivaini dragged him off to bed. Even if he felt like he would turn to stone if he had to watch Tiny carry his drunken boyfriend home while they both laughed freely. Even if when Hummingbird walked down the aisle for Curly he felt like he had cheated himself by falling in love with the wrong woman. Because the heart wanted what it wanted, and he couldn’t change that. Could he?

But then Bianca had done the stupidest thing he had ever seen anybody do. Well, close to the stupidest thing, at least. Because of her mistake thousands had died, and he had been so angry with her that he forgot that he loved her. She’d left, and he’d stayed with the Inquisition, and after they beat Corypheus it had started to feel like things were actually different. When she had been brought back to Skyhold things had gotten muddled all over again, but he was surprised by the fact that he was able to resist her, even when she was right there in front of him. It gave him a new level of hope he hadn’t expected. Hope that maybe the cracks to his soul weren’t as deep as he had thought. Maybe there was hope for happiness without leaving his heart behind to get there. Maybe there _was_ someone else out there that could love him for who he was…

“The trail is gone.” Cassandra’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. He wasn’t sure how long he had been mired in his own reflections, but the dark air felt full of pressure that he couldn’t recall being aware of before.

“Gone? What do you mean gone?” he asked, moving up to stand next to her and stare at the ground. He fully expected to spot the little river of blood, thinking that she had simply missed it, or that it had turned in an unexpected direction, but he was perturbed to find it was, in fact, gone. He spun around in a circle, as if it were merely hiding from them and if he was fast enough he would catch it. “Shit. Did we lose it, or did she just stop bleeding at some point?”

He glanced through the chamber they were in; big, dark, and full of columns that reached up to a ceiling they could barely see. They had passed through dozens of similar rooms, turning in various directions. How long ago had she stopped seeing the trail and just kept moving?

She frowned at him. “You do not have to put it so bluntly.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Well, it _was_ her blood we were following.”

She sighed, and the torchlight danced as the air shifted. “We should double back. Perhaps we can find where it ended and go from there.”

She was looking at him like this was all his fault, like he was a thorn stuck in the bottom of her boot, wedged in the leather just to irritate her. “You know,” he started, his exasperation burning on his tongue, “would it really kill you to be just a little bit less –”

He became aware of the hissing sound a half second before she did, her eyes widening as she drew her weapons. It took only seconds for the giant spiders to descend from their perches somewhere above them, their massive bodies dropping to the ground with a sickening thud. Varric unstrapped his crossbow and started loading a bolt as two great hairy monstrosities closed in on them, one behind her and the other looming close to him. Cassandra took the torch and rammed it into a crack in a nearby column, wedging it firmly so that they wouldn’t lose the light, and then she moved so her back was to him.

“Shit.” She swore, and the word had never sounded more profane than when it slipped past her lips. He couldn’t help but agree, however.

“You’re telling me.” He mumbled.

Then they didn’t get any more words between them, as the spider on the left charged at Cassandra, its mandibles clicking in wordless threats. She thrust her shield upward just in time, taking the force of the thing’s blow even as it drove her backwards several inches, her boots carving short paths in the heavy dust. He took aim and fired at it before leaping away to avoid the spider levelling towards him, rolling through ancient grit as hairy legs just missed the edges of his tunic.

He clambered back to his feet and started reloading as his spider pursued, venom dripping from its fangs in great globs that sank to the stone and hissed on contact. He could practically feel the acrid breath as it hissed next to him by the time he was ready, so he didn’t waste another second and fired off the shot as soon as he had it focused, the bolt sinking into one beady eye as the spider let out a screech that made the air around him seem to vibrate. He loaded another bolt and fired again as it was still rearing back, landing another hit in its poorly protected skull. It made a sound somewhere between a gurgle and a hiss before crumpling to the ground, legs shooting out in awkward directions as the life bled out of its body.

Cassandra’s scream drew his attention before he had time to reload again and he turned, watching her spider slam into her shield again with enough force to launch her air born, sending her careening backwards into one of the columns nearby. She hit it with a metallic slap as her armor mashed against stone before she sank to the ground slowly, a dazed look on her sweat streaked face. For half a heartbeat the air seemed to still, time stopping as the echo of the blow reverberated into darkness. Then a disconcerting crack resounded through the very bones of the stone, the column she had hit splitting through the middle as the ceiling started to rumble, the cries of rocks tired from a thousand years of holding firm. Soon the rumble became a roar, and Varric felt the ground beneath his feet start to shake. The spider, having more sense than he would have given it credit for, screeched and took off into the darkness, escaping from the immense danger of the rapidly destabilizing room. He shouldered Bianca and started running, tripping as the world turned topsy-turvy, his mind begging his feet to work, to reach her, begging any god that would listen to let him get to her and to let her be okay.

Something sharp and hard thumped into the side of his head and he fell into the rolling dirt, waves of stone and dust churning all around him. He heard rather than saw the ceiling collapse, stone raining down from a sky of black, heavier than water and more solid than snow. The torch went out and darkness so thick he thought he was blind surrounded him, and he threw an arm above his head in the vain hope that he could protect himself should one of those great rocks decide he looked like a good place to land. He heard Cassandra scream again, loud and visceral enough to make the very worst of his nightmares seem like children’s stories, and he curled in on himself thinking that this was perhaps the worst way to go that he could think of.

After what could have been a few minutes or a few hours, the world finally stopped falling apart. He shifted and was relieved to discover all of his limbs intact and moveable, but when he opened his eyes burning liquid poured in, blinding him once again. He swiped at his face and his hand came away coated in something thick and warm and definitely his own blood, leaking from the wound on his head. He used part of his shirt to wipe away more, blinking until he started to feel like he could see. The ceiling was gone and the chamber above had apparently been filled with a great many deep mushrooms, so the area was filled with a soft teal glow that gave just enough light to see the devastation around him. Columns lay in shattered ruins, rocks and dirt piled where the exits used to be, and great clouds of dust shifted through the air. It was a mess.

He coughed as his lungs choked on the gritty air, his heart already beating faster as he tried to locate any sign of her. Nothing moved but shifting stone and the fear in his belly, like coiling ice worse than anything he could remember feeling before.

“Cassandra?!” he screamed, and it was a hoarse and miserable cry followed by a fit of coughing that ripped through his chest.

Then he heard someone else cough, followed by a wail that could only be made by someone in pain. He nearly fell over as he rushed to find the source of the sound, scrabbling over a pile of rocks as tall as a horse and dropping down on the other side. He saw her then, half of her buried beneath one of the toppled columns, a grimace drawn across her angular face. He moved faster than he had ever moved before and knelt beside her, one hand on top of the solid column as he looked her over. She was filthy, and definitely hurt, but her breaths were coming out evenly, albeit a little too fast. She was ALIVE, and it was such a relief he felt dizzy. Or perhaps that was the blood loss, he couldn’t really be sure. She tried to speak but all that came out was a groan of pain, her teeth clamping together over the scream it became.

“Hang on, let me get this off of you.” He told her, moving so he could try to roll the column away.

“Varric –” whatever she was going to say was cut off as the stone shifted and her words turned to cries of anguish.

“Shut up and don’t move.” He ordered her. She nodded and he gave the column another push, straining against the weight of the rock, the muscles in his arms bulging outward so tightly they hurt, his fingers going numb from the pressure he placed on his hands, but it finally started to roll and he got it all the way off of her. Her screams echoed dully in his ears, her pain no lessened by her freedom, and he tried to block out the terrible sound as best he could. He slipped his hands beneath her arms and dragged her over to the wall, propping her upright so that he could take a look at her injuries. He could tell already her leg was not in good shape.

“Where are you hurt?” he asked.

She grit her teeth again, the muscle in her jaw jumping rhythmically. “My leg. Broken, I think. And my…my arm isn’t moving.”

Her shoulder looked dislocated, and although her leg was at least in one piece there was blood seeping through the seams in her leather pants. He prayed that the bone hadn’t broken through skin as he reached for his pack to grab a potion, but his heart sank when his fingers brushed against something wet and sticky. He looked at his hand, and the green fluid from the elfroot potions coated it, the rest of the lifesaving liquid soaked into the fabric of the bag. He dug through everything he had, but all of the healing supplies they carried were smashed to bits. The only thing left was his water canteen, and that was mostly empty.

He knelt down so he could look her in the eye, the steady grey of her gaze reflecting the blue tint of the light back out at him. “We don’t have any potions, so I’m going to have to set your leg, and pop your shoulder back into place. Do you want something to bite down on?”

The pain on her face was evident, and it created an ache in his chest as he watched her consider, her pupils dilated as she avoided his gaze. She glanced at her leg, and then at her hands in her lap, one limp and the other curled into a fist, a fist he had seen take down dragons and demons alike, now trembling as she tried to hold herself together in the face of her injuries. Finally she met his eyes and nodded, and the little tremor that rippled across her lower lip was nearly enough to undo him, nearly enough to send him careening over the edge of madness. He knew what had to be done, knew he had to do this to her if she had any hope of surviving however long they would be out here, but the thought of causing her pain was almost enough to completely stay his hand. This was not his first turn at combat healing, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t the hardest to take.

He pulled at the hem of his shirt and did his best to locate the cleanest stretch in the faint light, then tore at the fabric until he had a decent sized strip. He doused it in a little bit of the water and twisted it in on itself, creating a damp cord that hopefully wouldn’t taste too much like dirt and dwarven sweat. He held it up to her chin and she obliged him by opening her mouth, and he pressed it between her lips as firmly as he could, her jaws closing in around it.

He didn’t ask for permission with words, because he didn’t think he had any. Instead he looked at her, a question hanging between them, and he knew she understood when she nodded, her head bobbing a little too frantically to be reassuring. He shifted down to feel along her leg and he heard her sharp intake of breath when his fingers pressed over the broken area, the bones beneath the skin jutting just a little too far to the left so that he could feel the swelling of the tendons and muscle beneath. He swallowed back the bile in his throat, and with a quick twist he pressed the errant parts back in place. Her screams were absorbed by the fabric of his shirt, but they still tore into his brain like the claws of a predatory bird, raking across his nerves and leaving him raw and shaky. He didn’t wait for her to catch her breath, wanting this all to be over with and behind them as soon as possible. He moved up and as fast as he could manage grabbed her arm and wrenched her shoulder back into its socket. He had never been more grateful for getting something right the first time than he was in that moment. Her screams gradually turned into sobs, then faded into soft hiccups as her chest worked to recover the air back into her lungs. He sat back and let his legs splay out beneath him, wiping away more blood trickling from the gash on his brow.

After a few moments she spat the corded fabric out of her mouth, swallowing roughly enough that he saw the muscles in her throat ripple and flex. “I am sorry.” She rasped.

He certainly hadn’t expected that to be the first thing she said, and his jaw went slack. “For what?”

“If I had paid more attention they never would have surprised us like that. This is my fault, and I am sorry my carelessness has gotten you into this situation.”

He heard her words loud and clear, but it took his brain a second to really comprehend what she was saying. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He almost laughed, but the mirth never quite made it past a stiff wheeze.

“What?” the shock on her face was plain to see, and it set off his ire that she could truly be that self-deprecating.

He held his arms out wide, gesturing to everything around them. “You can’t blame yourself for a fucking cave in!”

She tilted her head upward, jutting her chin out stubbornly. “I believe someone has to take responsibility.” Her voice held enough venom that she could have given the spiders a run for their money, and it burned across him just as strongly.

“Don’t. Just don’t.” he shook his head violently. “Don’t get angry at me because I won’t let you ride around on the horse of shame just to feel better. Shit happens. There isn’t always a reason, there isn’t always a purpose, and there isn’t always someone to blame. Life doesn’t always have some grand design, despite what the fucking Chantry says.”

He could tell he had taken it a step too far in the way her eyes started to reflect too much light, the way her chest fluctuated as she made a choking little sob that was worse than the screams. He’d said too much when he picked at her beliefs. Cassandra was a woman that survived by believing that everything happened for a reason, and now, jackass that he was, he had opened his fat mouth in a time where she needed reassurance more than anything, only to throw mockery back in her face. He might as well have told her the Maker was dead and she had killed him, because he’d probably offended her just as much.

“Can you never just accept something?” her voice wavered between heartbroken and furious. “Would it kill you to keep your opinions to yourself and let people have their own beliefs for a change?”

He looked at her, trembling and hurt and probably the most vulnerable he had ever seen her, and he knew he should apologize. But the words were trapped in a coffin built of resentment, built of frustration carved from the wooden trees of their long journey to this point, a journey that had started half a lifetime ago in Kirkwall, and he couldn’t make himself say them. In this moment he felt just as broken as she was, and it felt like all they ever did was drive the nails in deeper, hammering away at each other until one of them would eventually break down. Something big and painful was wedged between them, and if he apologized it could fix things, or it would just stack one more thing on the pile of misunderstandings that they never seemed to be able to see around. So instead he stood up, brushing dust off of his knees for no other reason than to give his hands something to do, to give himself a moment to take a deep breath.

He didn’t apologize, but he managed not to glare at her. “I’m going to go see if there’s any way out of here.”

And with that he shuffled off to search for any exits, hoping that he would figure out how not to be an asshole somewhere along the way.


	36. Honesty was for the Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lilly lashes out and there are some bittersweet moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Surprise extra chapter in honor of Maggie-the-Red-Vane-Trevelyan from tumblr, who is having a rough time and I thought she deserved a pick me up. 
> 
> Although I'm sorry my writing is not exactly...fluffy. >.> Hopefully it makes you feel better anyhow! 
> 
> Also hopefully you all approve of how this played out. O.O

She wasn’t drunk, but she desperately wished she could risk getting that way. She sipped at the ale in front of her without tasting it, staring at the polished wood of the bar without actually seeing it, her thoughts tumbling through her head like rogue feathers tossed to the wind. Lilly could feel the bags under her eyes, heavy pillows of puffy skin weighing down her expression, begging her lids to close for just a moment’s respite, for just a little sleep. It would be so easy to lay her head down on the shiny wood and slip into unconsciousness…

She jerked her head up, startling herself out of the sleep her body was trying to demand. Shaking her entire frame, she tried to force off the fatigue as well as the memories of the nightmares that flashed across her mind’s eye, a dozen dreams of Anders’ death at the hands of the maniacal demon that plagued her. Justice had grown crueler each time he had found her, discovering just the right things to say or just the right things to show her in order to bring her close to her breaking point, drowning her in a barrage of horror until she woke up tumbling out of bed, sweat soaked and terrified, barely masking the screams so that the guards wouldn’t come running, ready to fight something that wasn’t there.

It had only been a couple days, but already she felt like a rope holding too much weight, tied around the bow of a sinking ship, destined to snap and let everything tumble into that deep, dark abyss that was constantly whispering her name. Sooner or later she’d slip, and she’d fall, and then Justice would get what he wanted in the end; her death as retribution, her death to pay for her insubordination, her death as punishment for her insolence at ever having lived. Her crimes in life were many, but it was loving Anders that was costing her the most, and it was that very same crime she could never feel sorry about, no matter how Justice intended to punish her for it.

“Andraste’s tits Hawke, you look like shit.” Isabela’s voice was airy, as it always was, but having known her as long as she had, Lilly was still able to detect the real concern under the carefully constructed bravado.

“Oh no!” she replied with mock despair. “Whatever shall I do?! Now no one will ask me to the winter ball!” she placed the back of her hand on her cheek and tipped her head back, letting the motion of her wavy hair add all the drama she needed to the expression. “Truly it is the worst of fates!”

Dorian, standing with the rest of the group Isabela had walked in with, quirked an eyebrow at her. “My, aren’t we feeling salty today?”

“If you think this is Hawke being salty, you haven’t truly seen Hawke.” Fenris told him, taking a seat at the bar next to her. He watched her with a careful eye, but didn’t comment on what he saw. She mentally added another notch to her ongoing list of reasons she needed to buy Fenris drinks. It was getting long, as were the lists attached to many other names in her head, but eventually when her life wasn’t in shambles she would pay them all back. IF her life was ever shamble-free.

Bull, Dorian, and Isabela took up their own places, and she resisted the urge to leave immediately. She wasn’t exactly in the mood for company, but the conversation might serve to keep her awake, and at this point she was ready to try anything if it kept her out of the fucking fade. Every minute awake was another small victory against the son of a bitch ruining her lover, and she would take what she could get and where she could get in when it came to that.

So instead of leaving, or asking them to leave, she plastered a massive grin on her face. “Salty is my middle name!”

Isabela propped her chin on her hand, smiling coyly. “I thought your middle name was Amalthia?”

“Hey!” Lilly frowned. “Did I not say I would murder you if you ever told anybody that?”

The tan pirate rolled her eyes and tossed her hair before gesturing in Lilly’s general direction. “Please, you couldn’t murder me right now if you tried. Look at you, all pasty and droopy. You’re like one of those soggy little things Blondie used to drag into the clinic out of the damned rain.”

Lilly lapsed into silence, resuming her staring contest with her mug at the mention of Anders. It reminded her all at once why she hadn’t sought out company over the past couple days, even in the moments when she felt desperately lonely. Anders was too much a part of their lives to never be talked about, but every time he was mentioned it was like a stab across her heart. She was already wounded and bleeding enough without being reminded of what she was missing by people who had no idea how much pain they were actually causing.

“Soggy things?” Bull knocked back a shot of something that smelled like paint as he waited for an answer, not even flinching as he slammed the glass back down. She wondered absently if whatever he was drinking was strong enough to numb the soul.

Fenris chuckled. “Cats. He has a thing for cats.”

“Better than _dogs_.” Dorian sniffed in obvious distaste. “Can you believe Fereldens actually revere mabari? And use them to _decorate_?”

“Mabari are incredibly smart and loyal.” Isabela said. She dipped her finger in the foam around her drink, licking it off the tip before she continued. “I had a shipmate once who had one. That dog was better in a fight than most of the rest of the bloody crew, that’s for sure.”

“Ugh, but the smell must have been terrible.” Dorian shuddered as though this were the worst thing he could imagine.

Isabela let out a throaty laugh. “Have you ever _been_ on a pirate ship twinkle toes? The nicest compliment you can give a man is he doesn’t smell _that_ bad.”

“You’d think with all that water around it wouldn’t be too difficult to rinse off once in a while.” Bull said.

“You’d be surprised how much people put up with to avoid climbing up and down a length of rope.” Fenris added, an easy smile across his face.

Isabela wrapped an arm around him, leaning in to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, which he rubbed off with a roll of his eyes. “Of course if you want to sleep with the captain you have to bathe regularly.”

Bull started laughing, and the genuine merriment they were all sharing started to grate on Lilly’s nerves. “I imagine a lot more of them would brave it if you put that offer on the table.” He said.

Lilly snorted. “I would pay to see Fen react to _that_.”

“I would pay to see him do a great _many_ things.” Dorian quipped with a waggle of his eyebrows, and the whole group around her broke out into laughter. It was like being surrounded by light when all she wanted was more darkness, as though she were a darkspawn cringing away from the sun as it burned her flesh away. It made her furious for some reason she couldn’t place. This was the way she normally felt better, laughing and joking until the things that hurt just didn’t sting so bad anymore. Maybe she was broken, really truly broken now, shattered into too many pieces that just didn’t connect anymore. As their smiles and joy surrounded her she felt herself recoiling, building a wall of anger around herself that seethed like a pit of snakes.

When she spoke she knew it came from a place of gloom, but she had no control over her tongue anymore, no control over the words pouring out of her mouth, and so she let the poison free because she didn’t have the strength to stop it. “Oh, did you pay to see elves do things often in Tevinter, or did you just use your slaves for that?”

Everyone stopped laughing. The silence was thick and immediate, wrapping around her like a cocoon, enveloping her as it hung heavy in the air. The tension was like a drug, a balm against her suffering, like the only way to feel anything anymore was to drag everyone else down with her.

Dorian cleared his throat. “We always treated ours well, thank you very much.”

“If you owned them then you were already mistreating them.” Fenris snapped. She could feel his anger buzzing around in the air, like flies drawn to her rotting words, her influence decaying all around her.

“As opposed to releasing them so they would face inescapable poverty?” Dorian shot back, his own irritation evident in the way he straightened his spine and furrowed his brow.

Bull placed a hand on his lover’s shoulder. “Come on, Kadan.” He murmured.

“You don’t honestly think being a slave is _better_?” Fenris’ voice rose slightly, just on the verge of shouting.

“Better?” Dorian blinked at him. “Well it couldn’t possibly be _worse_.”

Isabela gasped. “Oh no.” she whispered under her breath.

Lilly could see this going too far, could see this headed even further down the road of pain than she intended, but for some reason she couldn’t open her mouth, couldn’t stop the flood of anguish that she had unleashed.

Fenris stood. “Not worse? To be owned? To be considered no better than property?” the tattoos seared across his flesh started to glow, pulsing dangerously and bathing them all in ominous blue light. He took a step towards the mage, glaring at him. “To be used as nothing more than a pet? Kept and chained and tortured in the name of making them more _valuable_?  Like a _thing?_ ”

He jumped at Dorian without giving him a chance to respond, and someone in the back of the bar screamed. Dorian was fast, and took a step back, bringing up his hands as his fingers flickered with rings of lightning, fear etched on his fine features. Lilly waited for the fight to start, but Isabela wrapped herself around Fenris in the blink of an eye, her arms pressed into his chest as she murmured something in his ear. Bull moved to stand in front of Dorian protectively, holding his hands palm out in an effort to calm things down. Fenris stopped glowing and hung his head, and for the longest moment that had ever existed no one moved, no one even breathed as the pressure seemed to still, like they were all trapped in the eye of some terrible storm.

Dorian dropped his hands, letting the spell die. “I’m sorry, Fenris. I didn’t…I never meant to imply…” he worked his mouth, trying to find words, genuine regret written all over his face. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, and he swallowed audibly while trying to meet the elf’s eyes.

Fenris cut his hand through the air, shaking his head. “Spare me.” He spat. He shrugged off Isabela and stormed out of the tavern, the group watching him go and knowing there was nothing more they could say for the time being.

Isabela rounded on her, more enraged than she had ever been. “What the fuck is the matter with you? Why would you say something like that around him?!”

Lilly wanted to stay silent, she wanted to be stubborn and angry, she wanted to keep the hate around her heart because it was easier than feeling anything else, but the look on their faces was one stone too many, one twist of the blade too far, and it broke her. Instead of the angry retort she wished she had, she burst into tears, great sobs shaking her entire body so hard she felt she might come apart at the seams.

“I’m so sorry. I haven’t slept in _days_ because Justice has been harassing me in the fade and I just felt like I needed to _hurt_ someone that wasn't myself! Dorian I’m so, so sorry!” the truth poured out with the tears, an apology she knew she owed them but didn’t want to make, pain and bitterness and rage flowing out of her until she was left, hollow and empty, a husk waiting to blow away in the wind.

Isabela wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. “Oh Hawke, why didn’t you tell anybody?” Lilly didn’t have an answer, so her only reply was more tears.

Dorian sighed, looking defeated as his posture fell. “Well that certainly explains a lot. You know, if I work with Vivienne I we could probably come up with something to help you sleep without dropping into the fade. Do you want me to ask her about it?”

“I just want to have Anders back.” She wailed, and let Isabela hold her while she emptied herself of everything, drawing the poison from her veins tear by tear.

It devastated her to know there was no end to this torture yet in sight, and she wished she knew if she even had a right to have any hope left or not. Losing that hope might kill her, but if it went on much longer the waiting would get to her first.

 

***

 

Her eyes swam in and out of focus, making the little points of light from the mushrooms turn into flickering little fireflies that drifted around her head. She couldn’t tell if it was hot or cold in the blackness, her skin fluctuating between two extremes as she alternated between sweating and shivering, sometimes doing both at the same time, and neither making her leg feel any better. It felt like some tiny creature was pounding on her shin with a hammer, chipping away at the bone with a maddeningly steady rhythm. Her throat felt like she had swallowed molten metal and her stomach was clenched around the resulting blade. She could hear Varric moving around beyond her field of vision, mostly his shuffling footsteps with the occasional curse. It was a comfort to know he was still there, even if the look she last saw in his eyes made her feel hollow inside her chest. Here, wounded and laying in a forgotten Thaig, Cassandra felt like a vast echo chamber, picking up all her failures and rebounding them back on herself until they were so loud inside her own head she thought it might split in two.

Varric appeared around a pile of stone without much preamble, walking to stand next to where she lay trying not to move any of her battered muscles. “There’s debris blocking every exit. It’s too heavy to shift even if you were in any shape to help. I tried climbing into the chamber above, but that’s no use either.”

He didn’t say that it meant this was their tomb, but he didn’t have to. She could hear the truth in the heavy sag in his voice, in the lack of the laughter that so often tinged the back of his words. At another time she might have offered hope, some platitude insisting that help would come, that they shouldn’t give up, but the throbbing in her leg was a fire that ate away her faith. She didn’t have anything left to fight back the grim reality, and so she remained quiet.

He pressed his back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting next to her, his elbow almost close enough to touch her arm. She was acutely aware of the way he smelled underneath the dust from the cave in, of fresh parchment and spiced oil, ink scented with the faintest hints of whatever flower was used to make its coloring. She had smelled the same thing a thousand times before, something comforting and familiar, but this was the first time she had been made aware that it was uniquely him. Perhaps it was the darkness creeping in around them, or her mind struggling to find things to focus on besides the pain, but it seemed clear to her now that it was HIM here with her, smelling like laughter under the false starlight of the sky under the mountains.

She tried to swallow and her throat hitched around the attempt, sending a cough raking through her that shifted her whole body. She winced and hissed, trying to stop it from continuing as her mouth begged for more moisture.

“Here.” He pushed the water canteen in her face, holding it loosely until she could manage to take it from him in slightly shaky hand. She avoided using the arm that had been dislocated, the shoulder protesting even the smallest of movements, but she still had one good limb, and was thankful he hadn’t tried to do this simple thing for her. She upended the canteen and felt the lukewarm fluid bathe her parched throat, running out far too soon. When she had drained the very last drops she handed it back, frowning as her thirst seemed to plead for more.

“Is that the last of it?” she asked, although she knew the answer before he said it.

“Yep.”

He let the back of his head rest against the wall, his eyes closing for a moment. She studied him out of the corner of her eye, wondering if she should say something. But what could she say? If she tried to apologize for their situation he would likely just yell at her again, and while she was more than used to it by this point in their acquaintance, she didn’t think she had the fortitude to withstand it at the moment.

It was strange for her to think these were their last moments. She had always known her life could be cut short at any instant, had even believed that her time had come several times before. She had never been foolhardy enough to envision dying in a blaze of glory as many of her order did. Her lust for battle was not so great that she actually _wished_ to go down in combat, in a frenzied test of strength against some foe who held just as much honor as she. Those were the dreams of young boys and men who had never grown up enough, the manhood filled ideals that held no appeal to someone as practical as she had always been. She had not become a warrior to bring honor to her name or her death, it had merely been a means to an end. She saw things in the world that required steel to accomplish, and so she had set out to do them. She had always let her faith guide her actions, believing that the Maker would show her the way even in the darkest of nights.

But the world had only ever grown darker, and though she had thought she still tread a righteous path, sitting in the inky murk that surrounded them made her feel far more lost than she would normally allow. For some time she had not truly understood her path. Since the last remnants of her life had gone up in green flame when the Conclave exploded she had been lost, in a way. She had found others to follow, others whose purpose seemed more obvious than her own, and she was proud of the work she had done with them. She was proud to follow Autumn and their team, and would have gladly done so even if it meant the loss of her life. But this? Dying in the darkness while Autumn bled out somewhere beyond their reach? What purpose could this end serve? What point was there in a path that crumbled without accomplishing what they set out to do?

“I’m sorry.” His voice was small and heavy, like a stone sinking through churning waves, but she didn’t ask him to repeat it. She had heard it loud and clear, that familiar gruff timbre slicing through her melancholy and silencing her despair. She waited, quiet, knowing that it wiser to do that than speak, sensing something in the way he was talking, afraid that if she moved she would startle him. There were important things on the edge of his tongue, and she knew that if she waited she would hear them.

“I’m sorry that all I ever manage to do is disappoint you. I’m not used to people expecting me to be better. I’m sorry that I can’t be what you want me to be.” His dejection pulled at her in unexpected ways. This was not the Varric she knew, or at least it was not the image she told herself she saw when she thought of him. This was raw and natural, this was a man cutting himself open to show her how he bled.

She shook her head, even though she doubted that he saw it as he stared at his hands. “No, I should apologize. I am too hard on you, on myself…on the world.” She sighed. Knowing that he was right about her guilt complex and saying it aloud were two very different things, but it was easier to reveal than she had thought, the words not as difficult to admit with the sky so far away. “The only thing I ever want from you is to be honest with me.”

“Honesty is dangerous. Honesty gets people hurt.” He sounded so much smaller than he felt as his arm pressed against hers. She couldn’t remember them shifting together, but she was grateful for the contact now that she noticed it.

“I know.” She agreed with him. Honesty was difficult. Honesty, true honesty, was better left to those that had nothing left to lose. Honesty was for the dying. “I was never disappointed in you.” She blurted the admission before she rightly knew what she was saying, but once the words were out there she didn’t want to take them back, even liked the way they filled the air as the sound faded around them.

His sharp intake of breath betrayed his surprise. “Do you…really mean that? Because you have a strange way of showing it.”

She chuckled bitterly, knowing that he made a good point. “Yes, I mean it. I’m glad you came with me, and I’m sorry for everything that I’ve put you through. Since Kirkwall. I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this.”

“Don’t be sorry for that. I’m not.” His answer was quick, and this time it was her turn to be surprised.

“You’re not?”

Varric was silent for a long time, gathering his words as the hush grew charged, her heart thundering against her ribs. She realized she was waiting for something, although she couldn’t say what exactly. She wanted to hold her breath, to bite her lip as she hung on the edge of this great precipice, waiting for his words to send her tumbling over the edge. Such a thing didn’t seem sensible, but she found that the anticipation was both terrifying and exciting. Something was shifting in this somber moment, something that had been settled on top of them like a great mountainside, stacks upon stacks of frustrating emotions that they could never see around before. Now, in the dark where honesty was finally easy, they had found their way through it all to get a chance to see eye to eye.

“I can regret a lot of things in life, but following you? That’s not one of them. I got a new life out of it, new friends, a new home. I could never regret any of the things that led to that. Especially…” he paused and she felt his hesitation like a flutter of air, small paper wings stirring against her cheek as he worried whether or not he should speak. “Especially since I got to do it all with you.”

She was certain the ground beneath them had given way and dropped her into an abyss. She felt like she was freefalling, weightless and sinking even though the air never shifted around her. Her heart had stopped beating and now quivered in her throat as she processed what he had just said. It shocked her how much it meant to her, shocked her how much it moved her, shocked her how she had been dying to hear him say something like it and had never even known. With those few words the mountain between them was gone and she could see him clearly, see all of him, and in this moment she could truly appreciate just how much she had been missing. All of it clicked together now, all made clear in a way she was a fool to have missed before, his smile, his laugh, his way with words and his attitude even in the worst situations, all of it had become so important to her without her even realizing it. He had been there through all of the times she had been doubting herself, through all of the turmoil she put herself through while she tried to piece together the meaning of the terrible things that happened, and never once did he leave her side when it mattered.

“Cass? You should really say something, because I’m kinda starting to freak out here.”

She fisted his shirt in her good hand and yanked him forward, leaning in to bring her lips to his. She could taste the salt of the sweat on his face, feel the rough spot where he chewed his lip when he was concentrating, and reveled in the way his nose brushed against her cheek. For one horrible moment he didn’t respond, and she wondered if perhaps her injuries had made her insane, if perhaps she had misread the moment, if perhaps she was a foolish woman who had fallen in love with someone who would never even see her, but then he brought his arms up to cradle her head. His calloused fingers were rough as they trailed across her cheekbones, spreading warmth as his palms caressed her face, his thumbs brushing along her jawline. She breathed into him as their mouths parted for one another, inhaling and exhaling each other like they had never been able to breathe until that moment. It felt like she had been waiting for this, this one single kiss, for an entire lifetime, a thousand lifetimes, for years and years as her heart ached for romance that she didn’t think she deserved. It was so much better than the stories, so much more than words could ever convey, and it set her free like nothing else could have.

When she pulled back for air her heart was dancing again, her pain forgotten in the adrenaline of the moment. “I’m sorry it took me so long to do that.”

He kissed her lightly again, several quick, tender presses in a row. “I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you.”

He settled back against the wall and wrapped an arm around her. She leaned into him, accepting the easiness it afforded to her, the calming effect of feeling like she had finally come home. He brought his hand up and stroked the side of her head, sliding his fingers through her hair. It was blissful, simple, an action that felt more natural to her than she would have ever thought possible.

It should have been bittersweet. She should have been angry that they had only reached this point at the very last possible moment, angry that she had discovered feelings like this only as they settled in to face death together. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to be resentful. What mattered was that it had happened, and she was deliriously happy about it. She would be grateful for the moments they had together, even though they were few. At least now she could face her death with a clear heart, and that was a worthy enough end as far as she was concerned.


	37. He Would Not Fail Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you can all calm down a bit now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO ANOTHER SURPRISE CHAPTER. 
> 
> Art has been added, drawn by the lovely NCGrimm, or grimmcake (grimmcake.tumblr.com), who is AMAZING and has drawn a wonderful rendition of Autumn. GO SHOWER HER WITH LOVE.
> 
> You will probably still get another chapter on Sunday, but if it isn't done in time I apologize. I wanted to get this one out early so you guys will stop glaring at me through the internets. I CAN FEEL IT AND IT STINGS A LITTLE.
> 
> Also apparently MaryDragon and I are going to be doing a DA related podcast at some point. It will involve booze and long discussions about Thedosian religions and probably also Cullen.

 

 

She had taken to singing under her breath to pass the time. Nothing extravagant or complicated, she had neither the talent nor bravery of Maryden, but she mumbled through half remembered verses of different songs, using the steady clang of the guard’s boots hitting the stone floor as a background beat. Before long she started making up words to her own lullabies, which eased the fear that clamped down on her heart somewhat, but there were no words to express just how uneasy the blackness made her feel. Even worse was the darkness lurking behind the eyes of the wardens guarding her cell, but she tried not to think about that, because within their bloodshot pupils lay a madness that robbed her of her hope, and hope was all she had left to cling to.

Her injuries were agony. She hovered somewhere between deliriously numb and overwhelmingly sensitive to it all. Her head had stopped bleeding, so that was something she could attempt to find cheer in, but her shoulder had started to swell to rather nasty proportions. She couldn’t move to alleviate any of the pain because her arms were still shackled to the ground, nor could she remove her leather to check on the wound, but judging by the way it felt, and by the way her shoulder seemed so much closer to her face than it had ever used to, she would say she was probably more purple than pale at this point. She did her very best not to shift at all, worried that she could risk permanent damage to the arm if she agitated it too much, but every once in a while she would have a need to sneeze, her cold no less bothersome now than it had been before this had happened, and her whole world would become a solid wave of suffering that made her vision fade to black and her lungs seize up and falter. She had passed out a couple of times, but inevitably the pain would wake her again, and she would be greeted with the same dreary walls and hopeless chains.

And so she sang. She sang lowly, not really wishing to irritate the guards, not wishing to draw their boots into her ribs again, but still she sang. She sang right up until the footsteps arrived outside her cell. She sang even as Yutte stepped in, Cambria in tow, and tossed the filthy bag over her head again. She sang even as they removed her shackles and yanked her forward, not giving her time to right herself so she was forced to let them drag her along on her knees, scraping away at the leather wrapped around her legs until the skin underneath felt raw. She sang because she felt like it kept her heart beating, because she felt like it was a guiding light in the empty void, and because it was the only thing she had the power to do. She sang because the words reminded her that help was coming, even as her mind recoiled from reality, begging to slink away into oblivion. She sang because it reminded her of the times she had endured, of the times others had seen her live and taken hope from that, praying that she would be granted the privilege to do so again. She sang because she needed to hear it, and that was reason enough to bring the melody from her lips.

_Look to the sky_ , she sang. _The dawn will come_.

 

***

 

He had found her trail of blood on the ground a ways back, and followed it faster than the wolves could shadow, leaving the pack behind at last. He had found the entrance to the dwarven ruin, sunken into the mountain, a gaping maw full of dark memories and darker omens. The whole place reeked of her fear, her blood poisoning the air so that it was almost overwhelming. It made his heart beat painfully, pounding on his ribs like it was trying to break free from him, break free from this tortuous life where it pined for things it could never have.

He gripped his staff as he moved into the darkness, not because he needed it, but because holding something kept him from digging his fingernails into his palms, kept his arms from shaking and his feet from faltering. The crystal carving at the tip lit almost of its own accord when the darkness grew too thick, summoning the glow second nature to him, an act so trivial he need not think of it to perform it. His magic swirled around him, blurring between blue and green, illuminating stones that held memories only the dwarves of old could understand. No dwarf alive remembered the magic resting in the bones of the mountains, but the spirit lingered with no need of acknowledgement, an energy as old as time and resentful of its passage. He disliked wandering the halls of the dead, disliked lurking in places the sun had never touched, but he could feel her there in the shadows, feel her heartrate stuttering up and down its range of tempos, dancing to music he longed to be close enough to hear.

He followed the soundless song through the empty corridors, ignoring the whispers of age old questions, until he came upon the wreckage of a passage. Crumbled stone blocked half of the path in front of him, the air still tinged with the scent of dust and movement, though nothing stirred. Her blood didn’t mar the floor any longer, but the heady scent carried deeper still, and he knew he was heading in the right direction by the flutter of the mark calling out to him. He summoned his will and began to move the largest pieces of debris, knowing it would be faster than trying to clamber over what looked to be an unstable remnant of recent chaos. The bones of the mountain groaned as he worked, and he did his best to do so quickly.

 

***

 

When he first heard the shifting rock he thought it was just more settling from the cave in, the last loose rocks tumbling to rest where they would probably remain for years after. He ignored it, resting his cheek against Cassandra’s head as she slept in small fits, restless as her temperature started to rise from the stress being put on her body. He tried his damnedest to comfort her, offering her murmurings of encouragement, soft caresses, and tender brushes of his lips across her skin, but sooner or later he wouldn’t be able to help as she succumbed to her injuries and left him alone.

When he realized the sound wasn’t stopping, nor was it really increasing to indicate another cave in, his interest was finally dragged away from the lovely warrior in his arms. He lifted his head and stared in the direction of the sound, the same direction that had once held a doorway if he remembered correctly. At his movement Cassandra stirred, groaning slightly as she shifted, becoming aware of the sound herself.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Sounds like...someone’s moving the stone.” He replied, only half trusting the admission even as he spoke. Wouldn’t it be too much to hope for? Hadn’t he just found his poetic end in the arms of a woman he had never dared to love before? Varric was not an optimistic person, so he found it hard to believe he would be granted something so sweet alongside salvation.

Carefully he moved out from her embrace, lurching to his feet on muscles that were stiff from taking a beating earlier and then sitting motionless for too long. He deftly moved over rubble towards the sound, the grating shift of debris being cleared from the passage beyond becoming more obvious the closer he got. In all likelihood it would be the same people that captured Hummingbird out there, clearing out their workspace. He spared a glance back at Cass, frowning at her ghostly pale skin in the teal light, and it took him only a moment to decide he would rather die trying to fight for her life than go meekly into the void.

He cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound and shouted as loudly as he was able. “HEY! HEY IS SOMEBODY OUT THERE?!” the noise coming through the rock wall stopped for a moment, and so he repeated his cry, “HEY! IF THERE’S ANYBODY OUT THERE, WE NEED HELP!” he barely dared to breathe as he listened for a response, but after a moment the shifting noises came back, and he could hear them getting closer, someone digging a path straight to them.

When part of the last layer between him and his savior were finally pulled free he was momentarily blinded by bright light, curling blue green flames swallowing the darkness around them. He held his hand up over his eyes, squinting as he tried to see through the glare, and when his vision finally righted itself he could only blink as his jaw fell open.

 

***

 

“Solas?!” Varric’s voice was haggard and dripping with surprise, his tawny hair matted with blood and dust.

Solas’ surprise was no less than his, however, and he couldn’t help but blink back at him in astonishment. “Varric?” Of all the things he had expected to find on this ill-fated journey, Varric had honestly not been one of them.

An easy grin spread over the bedraggled man’s face, his teeth strangely clean amidst all the grime. “No wait, let me guess: chasing Hummingbird?”

Solas couldn’t help the tug of the corners of his mouth, his heart more warmed to see a familiar face than he would ever admit. “I surmise Cullen has sent you after her as well?”

“Pretty much.” He chuckled for a moment before worry formed a crease across his brow. “Hey, uh, you wouldn’t happen to have any healing potions would you?”

“Varric?” the tremulous voice from the back of the chamber made them both turn towards the sound, and Solas realized that Varric had not traveled alone. He clambered through the opening he had created as gracefully as he could, dragging the magical light with him so that the whole room was illuminated more thoroughly. He could see Cassandra, looking to be in far worse shape than Varric, propped against the far wall. Sweat clung to her short raven hair and the pain swimming in her fevered gaze was obvious. He wasted no time moving towards her, hoping her injuries were not so severe that they would cause him any great delay. He could still sense Autumn’s pain and suffering, like a dark fog clouding over his senses, a deep hum vibrating beneath everything, and with every second that ticked by he felt more and more frenzied with the need reach her.

“Solas?!” she cried when she saw him approach.

“I know, right?” Varric drawled.

She breathed a massive sigh of relief, one of her shoulders dropping further than the other as her posture slackened. “Thank the Maker!”

Solas knelt down to get a good look at her injuries, and she nodded her head towards her leg to indicate to him where he should start, although he would not have needed the instruction. The lavender leather she favored for her armor was turned a dark brown with blood where it had not been completely scraped away, and he could see the limb was far more swollen than its counterpart, covered in cuts and scrapes that must burn under the layer of damp sweat adorning her skin.

Varric leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “You do realize this means we’re gonna live, right?” he spoke to Cassandra, a strange hitch in his voice that Solas couldn’t place.

Solas fully expected her to snap at him, as she normally would have, but he was more surprised than anything to see her lips form a rather smug smile as she quirked an eyebrow up at Varric. “That _was_ what I was thanking the Maker for.” She winced slightly as his fingers ghosted over the worst of the injury, his low level spell already detecting the fracture. Thankfully it was minor, and had been set properly enough that there would be no lasting damage. He reached into his satchel and pulled out one of the stronger healing potions he carried, uncorking it and passing it to her. She knocked it back without a word, the tension on her face easing as it went to work, slowly mending the bones as it operated from within to numb the pain. She would be a far cry from hale for some time yet, but given time to recover she would be fit to fight again soon enough.

“Yes, but I mean, if we are getting out of this, then…” Varric trailed off and shrugged, looking somewhat bashful, and Solas had to resist the urge to stare at such an odd display from the pair.

“Are you asking if I will have regrets?” Cassandra was still thoroughly amused, and laughter danced beneath her words like rich honey soaking up the sunlight.

“Will you?” Varric asked quickly.

“Will _you_?” she rejoined, just as fast.

Curiosity ate away at Solas’ nerves as he watched them stare each other down, unreadable expressions on their faces. He had seen comradery between the pair, but something now seemed fundamentally different, in both the way they spoke to one another and the very air between them. His curiosity was somewhat satisfied when Varric held out his hand to her, and she took it, accepting his help to lift her off the ground and delivering a warm kiss to his lips on her way up. It was difficult for Solas to keep his mouth from gaping open at them. Of all the pairings he had seen take place over the years, this was perhaps the strangest, and yet as he watched the tall warrior smile down at the plucky author, he could think of no other logical conclusion to their friendship.

“I have no regrets.” She murmured. Varric merely beamed, looking at her as though she were the source of all that was good in the world. A small pang of jealousy filled his heart at the sight, but he quickly let it drown in the strange sense of happiness at knowing they had found one another. He wished to celebrate their love, not mourn the tragedy of his own. Much must have changed since he had left, and he wondered if the odd family he had left behind would resemble the one he had been so attached to, although he realized it would make them no less dear to him. Autumn had torn open his heart and poured so much meaning inside, meaning that he had never truly realized he was missing, and even as they chaffed and confused him, he cherished all of the connections he had made as a result.

Solas cleared his throat, his sense of urgency denying him the ability to savor the moment. “I apologize, but I do not wish to waste any of my energy healing you, for I fear I will need it when I find Aut— ah, the Inquisitor.”

Cassandra turned to him, her lips pressing together in a firm line. “You know she has been captured then? She is most likely wounded.”

“I expect I followed the same trail here that you did, so I have seen her blood on the ground.” He gave her a wan smile.

“How did you know to come?” Varric narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

There were a great many explanations he could have provided that would have satisfied the question, but he found himself reticent to lie about anything to them. Nor, for that matter, could he provide the honest truth, so instead he shook his head slowly.

“That is a longer story than could be told for now.”

Varric seemed to accept this, and nodded in response. Wrapping an arm carefully around Cassandra’s waist, he allowed her to lean on him as he escorted her out of the chamber. “Neither of us are in any shape to help you out, so we’ll head to the entrance and try to keep anything from coming in behind you.”

“Thank you.” Solas replied, sincerely.

“Solas?” Cassandra stopped, turning her head so she could meet his eyes. She smiled, and her expression told him that she had missed him, despite all of the odds that would have told him otherwise. It stung, adding a new layer of guilt over the many layers of complicated regrets he already had weighing on his shoulders, but it also renewed him in a way. It was both kind and cruel to know that he had been remembered in his absence, missed by more than just the woman who occupied most of his thoughts.

“Yes, Seeker Cassandra?”

“Bring her home, please.”

He smiled and nodded. As soon as they were back in the main tunnel, Solas left them behind, venturing further into the darkness with a more fiercely felt sense of determination. The world felt as though it had grown eyes, and would watch these next moments carefully, counting on him to do just as Cassandra had asked.

He would not fail her, not now, and not ever.


	38. Divine Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which several things happen in very quick succession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is going up a day early, so you won't get one tomorrow. Hope you guys like it! :)

She simply fell over onto the ground when they released her, her whole body throbbing so hard she wasn’t able to sing anymore. The bones in her shoulder no longer felt like a part of her, like they had separated and turned into blades digging into her flesh, and the searing burn of their cuts were enough to drive her to madness. She collapsed and tried to focus on breathing, her mind barely conscious through the haze of pain and delirium. For a moment she thought perhaps they had just dumped her somewhere, tossed her in a dark pit to rot until she died, but there was a strange hum in the room that was hauntingly familiar, and she shuddered as the heady warmth swimming in the air touched her skin like a damp cloud of steam. She may not have had a song on her lips any longer, but the buzzing music she would have recognized anywhere was more than ready to fill in her silence.

The bag was ripped off her head and she blinked around at the dim glow in the room, pulsating red flickering along the walls. She was in a small chamber that appeared to be set up as some kind of lab, long tables covered in various runes and tools placed haphazardly throughout, glittering chunks of red lyrium in various states of experimentation scattered along with larger chunks that appeared to be growing out of the walls. The infestation was not as advanced as it had been in Redcliffe's future that never was, but the sight still made her heart drop into her stomach, memories she never wanted to recall being driven to the front of her mind with a vengeance. Her breath caught as she tried to will them away, even as they tore through her, Cullen’s screams echoing down ruined hallways, the way his thin frame had barely resembled the man she had known, the way the light in his eyes had died as the horde of demons yanked him away from her.

She shut her eyes, her breath coming heavily through her nose as she bit her lip, roughly using the new pain to bring her back into the now. When she opened her eyes again she was still shaken, but could focus on the present, leaving the past in the dark recesses of her mind again. A group of wardens were stationed about the room, most of them standing sentinel around the perimeter, and she recognized Yutte and Cambria again, looming over her as they observed her somewhat coldly.

Yutte knelt down, cocking her head to the side. “I want you to use your mark on the red lyrium over there.” She pointed, and Autumn became aware of the small basin hollowed out in the center of the room, a large red claw thrust up from its middle. “I want you to use the energy to interact with it.”

She considered telling her that even if she could move her arm, even if she _could_ sift through the aching in her head and do what was being asked of her, Autumn would never in a million years consider actually doing it. But the words required more effort than she had to give, and so she just glared at her captors, a sullen heat behind her eyes that she knew they could see.

She didn’t see Cambria move, but she certainly felt the butt of her staff strike the side of her head. Bright orbs of color exploded behind her eyes and she rolled over from the force of the hit, setting off another string of insidious agony as her shoulder made contact with the ground. The anchor sputtered wildly in her palm and she could smell burning flesh, the magic searing her skin in a way it hadn’t since the breach had been torn from the sky.

Yutte strolled over almost candidly, her face still stony as she gazed down at the beaten Inquisitor. “I would advise you to consider cooperating. I would prefer to avoid potentially invalidating the data because you didn’t perform the experiment willingly. However, you will do what we ask either way, so your resistance is meaningless.”

Autumn continued to glare, and again Cambria offered her assistance, the staff slamming into her jaw with enough force to crack her teeth. She felt her lip rupture and blood fill her mouth, and she kept herself from screaming by spitting a puddle of thick red onto the ground next to her head. Cambria looked wholly unsatisfied with the reaction, and she narrowed her eyes.

“She won’t do it. Just let me use blood magic so we can get this over with.” The mage rolled up the sleeves of her tunic, revealing long scars that stood out starkly against her skin.

Yutte looked thoughtful for a moment, calculating as she watched Autumn writhing beneath her imperious gaze. It didn’t take her long to consider, and without much hesitation she nodded. “Do it.”

Cambria sneered, a gleeful look spreading across her cruel face as she drew out a small, ornate blade, and pressed it to her wrist.

Autumn shut her eyes and began to pray, truly pray, despite her doubts that it could even be heard. It appeared that she was finally out of time, the luxury of waiting for rescue having finally been taken from her, her agency in ruins like the broken mess of her shoulder, and so the only hope she could cling to at this point, the only thing she could think that could possibly help her now, was divine intervention.

 

***

 

Because he was searching for her he had opened himself up, opened his chest to let her crawl into his veins, and because of that connection, however limited he tried to keep it, he felt the pain as her suffering suddenly increased. It drove the thoughts out of his head, drove any sense of caution to the very edges of his mind, and he let his feet blindly carry him to her location. Each new blow she received echoed within himself, and he felt the sting of horrible fear build up behind his eyes so that his vision wanted to blur in a wash of tears.

He found the room and stepped through the threshold, red lyrium singing like a wicked bird whose song warped the whispers of the night. Through the angry glow he saw her, prone on the floor and full of loathing, and he felt a rage fill him that was ancient, old and dormant for far too many years, a rage that had made the people tremble for dread of his wrath. He felt the dark energy from the blood magic as one of the wardens present held a blade to her flesh, and he didn’t wait to find out what heinous spell she intended to cast. He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the acrid air, and when he exhaled he pushed his power out with it, slamming it into the corrupted would-be heroes who had committed such inexcusable crimes. They flew back, leaving Autumn alone on the floor, and he ran to her without a second though.

His fingers trembled as he brushed them across her face, shifting her fiery curls away from her visage. She looked up at him with wide, green eyes, staring from a face covered in dark purple bruises of varying age. Having her here, touching her again, he wondered how he ever could have thought the fade was a replacement, how he ever could have mistaken the shadow he visited for the real thing.

“You came.” She spoke, and he could tell she was half mad from pain, her lips coated with the crimson shimmer of her own blood.

He wanted to be angry with her still, he wanted to keep his distance and maintain his hold on his sanity, but he could smell her, not just her fear or her blood, but _her_ , exotic and haunting, burning brightly just like a star flaring alone in the night sky, and it broke whatever resolve he had.

“I told you that I was coming.” He smiled, and when she returned it he felt as light as a breeze as it passed through the endless blue of the summer skies. He brushed her cheek with his thumb, his own pale flesh standing out starkly against the blue rings near her temple and jaw.

He would have said more to her, might have said everything to her, were they not interrupted by the warden mage, shuffling to her feet with a low laugh. She had a crazed look in her eyes, a wild look that spoke of deep levels of madness, levels that showed the shackles weighing heavy around her mind. She didn’t speak, but her laugh increased in volume as she wavered on her feet. He watched her plunge the dagger into her arm, deep enough to part the corded tendons and crash against the bone, cutting a long gash that spilled blood that was scented of magic all over the ground. Solas stood, bringing his staff up in front of him and watching her carefully, his will already running through him as he prepared a barrier. The woman reached onto one of the tables, grabbing a handful of red crystals that seemed to whisper of her intent even before Solas could discern it, and then she plunged them into the wound of her making, driving the cursed lyrium into her veins. He felt her power jump as her magic drew on the energy, the very air trembling as she readied her spell. Her speed and focus were enhanced exponentially within moments, and he only just had enough time to cast the shield that kept her dark ice from slicing through them, like a charging bull formed of ragged shards of glass.

He pulled at his strength, and the next second they were both casting in tandem, flinging flames of different color one another that collided in the middle, wrapping into each other before exploding outward, arid wind billowing through the room and knocking down most of the furniture.

“Finally! A challenge!” the mage cackled, throwing up her arms. Red blood swirled around her, hovering weightless in the air, and he could feel the demons pressing against the sides of the veil, leaning to get a smell, to get a taste of the crazed woman who summoned them.

When she cast again it was lightning that scorched the air, but Solas was ready. He deflected the charge easily enough, pulling on more of his power to dissolve her spell before it ever reached him. Her eyes went wide as she sensed her failure, confusion and fear marring her haughty features. He met her gaze, and she knew her mistake, knew her miscalculation, but it was too late for her. It _had_ been too late for her the moment she had touched what he loved, but only now did she recognize her end.

He cast his spell and the world around them was consumed in fire, the wardens still stunned on the ground burning along with the mage, along with the furniture, along with the spires of lyrium that scarred the ancient walls. He let the area burn, holding the barrier around himself and Autumn in place. He let everything turn to ash, until nothing was left but glittering clouds of dust as the air started to settle. When nothing remained he changed his spell, allowing heat to escape as frost covered the walls, making the air safe to breathe once again before he dropped the barrier.

He turned back to Autumn, who was lying still with her eyes closed, her mind finally enveloped in comforting unconsciousness. He knelt down beside her, placing his hand on her brow, and her fever tingled against the mana still dancing in his palm. Her anchor sparked as he touched her, and she winced in reaction, her pain flowing through him once again. Her eyes fluttered open, gazing up at him in confusion for a moment before recognition flooded through her. She glanced around, and seeing the state of the room her mouth fell open.

“Solas…”

The crack that split across the ceiling cut through her words, the mountainside above them rumbling like thunder and damnation. The resulting tremor on the ground could be felt through every bone in his body, and when he turned his eyes away from the wretched sundering of the stone sky above them he saw the look of panic in Autumn’s battered face.

He helped her up as fast as he could, both of them trying to make haste around her injuries, wounds that demanded time and patience when they had none. The walls around them shook and quaked, and as they stumbled out of the room there were already things collapsing. They didn’t look back as they ran, and he kept a tight grip on her hand in his own, pulling her just as she pushed herself, their hearts beating together as they fled the sudden disaster. It would be enough, they were just fast enough, and if they could keep up this pace they would make it back into the world of starlight and wind again.

She cried out as her fingers slipped from his grasp, her exhausted feet fumbling in her haste and sending her spilling across the unyielding rock beneath her. For the tiniest moment he stared in horror, knowing that now it was too late, that they would never be able to recover their speed, that it was all going to come crashing down around them, extinguishing their efforts like a candle flame knocked into the ocean. He dove to the ground, scooping her up into his arms, wrapping his body around hers protectively. Her right arm slipped around his waist, and he felt her tremble against him as he threw the barrier over their heads just as a great block of carved history crashed into it, breaking into pieces as the magic repelled the deadly force. He grit his teeth, pulling forth as much will as he could spare, reinforcing their last line of defense as she clung to him, her face buried next to his pounding heart.

The very atmosphere was heavy, pressing in all around them, and he gave into the fear, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent, holding her closer than he had any right to, and wondering if his magic could hold beneath such weight. The weight of the mountain, the weight of his heart, the weight of her tears as they bled through his robes. She was scared, trembling and weak, seeking comfort from him that he did not in this moment know how to provide. The only thing he had was his heart, and so he opened up, letting her essence flood through him, feeling all of her complexities as though they were his own. It was unexpectedly soothing, connecting to her in this way. He felt his magic warm, churning with a power coming from her that invigorated him, lighting up his mind like the tail of a falling star. She filled him and completed him, and he felt the anchor enhancing his will, the familiar power he remembered from days of old tinged with everything he associated with her. His heart broke as he reveled in it, the barrier holding stronger, and he buried his face in her hair, allowing himself this moment to pretend that this was right, to believe that this was the way it could always be.

He held her and the barrier for some time after the sounds of collapse had faded. The tunnels behind them were in ruins, but the passages ahead still seemed to be somewhat intact, with a black cavern opening above their heads. When he was certain it was safe he let go of the spell, glancing up to see glowing fragments of stone couched in the fathomless ceiling, false stars in a godless sky. Autumn shuddered against him, pulling his gaze back down to her, and her pupils were blown wide, her body pushed so far past its limit with fear and pain that she didn’t even seem to see him.

He shifted so that he held her with one arm only, using the other to reach into his pouch and withdraw another healing draught. He used his teeth to pull the cork, tipping the bottle to her shivering lips, watching the potent concoction slip from the glass and onto her tongue. When he pulled back a drop lingered against the pink flesh of her mouth, and it took a great deal of restraint to keep himself from kissing it away, from using his tongue to help her swallow the last of the lifesaving liquid. He bit the inside of his cheek, ignoring the urge, and instead pulled forth a spell of healing, wrapping her in soothing light to finish what the potion could not. He felt the bones in her shoulder, shifted in all the wrong angles, flesh and blood burning hot around the misplaced frame. He fixed it, as slowly as he could, but as things started to move back into place the pain reached her, and she arched her back, crying out in anguish.

“Shh, I am so sorry, Lethallan.” He murmured soft encouragements as he worked, but if she heard them she gave no response. When he could be sure she would recover he released the magic, and despite his increased abilities he still felt drained, empty of any further power. He was thankful he had not attempted to heal Cassandra earlier, or he might have been too exhausted to maintain the barrier that had saved them, or cast the healing spell that had saved her.

When she met his eyes again they were still wild, the eyes of a child lost and alone, afraid of the very shadows beneath her own two feet. Tears, shimmering rain across the evergreen wilds of her gaze, welled up and cascaded down her cheeks, trailing through the dust and the blood and the swollen remnants of the bruises. They were the herald of what was to come, and soon she was sobbing, great gasping wails as she clung to him, burying herself away in his arms.

“Why?! Why did you leave me?”

He broke. He shattered. He crumbled like the ancient relic that he was, his pieces flung into the abyss so that he could not reach them if he tried. She was so small against him, so small and torn apart, and it was all his fault. If he were better, if he were anything that she deserved, not even as a lover but as a friend, none of this would have happened. He was destined to hurt her, again and again, betrayal topped on betrayal from before she was even born, and he had never felt so ashamed, so desolate, so certain that he deserved death and nothing else. Solas was a broken god, but still she held him, begging him to be everything he could not, unaware of all that he wanted to be for her.

“You are so stubborn.” He managed, his own tears carving rivers through the stone around his heart. He held her, hating himself, and together they cried over different things, both terrible, both broken, and all of it on his shoulders.

  
Eventually they had enough. He wasn’t sure which one of them grew silent first, but they noticed together when neither had the sorrow pouring out of their eyes. She pulled back, wiping her face with an undignified sniffle, and he could not help but smile at the mess she was, red nosed and rumple haired.

“Will you help me? With Anders?” she asked. She did not ask again why he left, and he was so grateful for that small boon. He did not deserve such a gift, but he would cherish it all the same.

“Yes.” He conceded. “If it will make you happy, I will offer my help.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

They made their way through the wreckage, sometimes being forced to crawl through openings just wide enough for one of them to go at a time, but when the light of the sun could be seen at the end of the tunnel they both let out large sighs of relief. When they emerged, the sky was golden as the sun gave its final bow, and Solas had never seen such a beautiful sight.

“Autumn!” Cassandra’s strangled exclamation came swiftly after they walked out, and the seeker abandoned Varric’s side to hobble over to them, hesitating only a moment before wrapping her arms around Autumn.

“Cass! What are you doing here?”

Cassandra pulled away and shook her, glaring fiercely around the tears in her eyes. “Did you think we would just let you wander off alone? Did you think CULLEN would let you?”

Autumn’s eyes filled with fear. “Oh Maker, how mad is he?”

Cassandra moved out of the way for Varric to take her place, giving Autumn a warm embrace she had to lean over slightly to accept.

“Mad enough that he almost sent the entire army out looking for you.” He told her.

“Shit.” Autumn mumbled.

“Curly isn’t here, however, and _we_ are. What were you thinking?  Have you completely lost your mind?  You have an entire army at your disposal, and you run off to do something by _yourself?_ ” he asked, the anger in his voice obvious.  "Do you have any idea what would have happened if Solas hadn't shown up?  What did you think you were going to do alone?  Why didn't you ask one of us for help?"

Autumn snapped her mouth shut, averting her gaze until she looked at Solas. She met his eyes, holding them for a moment with a forlorn expression before she finally turned back to their friends. “It’s complicated.” She said.

Varric shot a glance at Solas, and he could tell the dwarf knew something of this mess was his fault. Solas, however, would never tell him what it was, and he sincerely doubted Autumn would elaborate either. As much as the others were family, the truth of what had happened was not for them. It was between himself and Autumn, and he doubted anyone else could even understand it, even if they had a mind to try and explain it to them.

Cassandra, wise beyond her years, placed a hand on Varric’s shoulder. “Come, let us scout ahead to ensure the way is clear.” She told him.

He looked about to protest, but when he saw the pointed look on her face he gave in, wrapping an arm around her waist to assist her as they walked into the woods beyond. Autumn tilted her head, giving them a quizzical stare, her hair tumbling over her shoulder.

“That’s odd.” She nodded in the direction of the receding couple, and Solas chuckled at her confusion.

“They apparently discovered much about themselves when a cave in trapped them together.” He explained. She turned her face to him, biting her lip as she considered what he said, before her eyes grew as wide as saucers.

“No! Really?!” He nodded, and she tipped her head back and laughed, the sound carrying up to the sky as golden as the dwindling rays of light. When it faded she sighed, a smile still plastered across her lips.

He moved forward and took her hand, pulling her attention, ensuring that she looked at him so that she would see him when he spoke. “Promise me you will never do anything like that again.” He begged. “There are many who love you, yet you act as if you must do everything alone. You are never, ever alone. Not while any one of us is alive.” The blush spreading across her cheeks was intoxicating, and he took a deep breath as he braced himself against her draw. “If you cannot value your life for yourself, value it for them. Value it for the people that you would leave broken if you left them behind. I meant what I said, and I will always do whatever is within my power to save you, but I cannot bear to see you treat yourself as though you mean nothing. Promise me you will at least consider your life worth something for the ones who love you.”

She threw herself into his arms again, hugging him close. “I’m sorry. I promise. It was a mistake to be so reckless and I just…I’m sorry.”

They separated and walked forward to join the others, and he was glad he had gotten the vow from her. He wasn’t sure she would ever value herself as much as she should, as much as she deserved to, but at the very least she would stop throwing herself into the jaws of danger without first considering what her life was worth to others. He knew she would think of Cullen first when it came to that, and in part that broke his heart, but it didn’t matter who she considered in the end, so long as she considered, and so long as it kept her safe. There were many regrets in this world he could live with, but her death would not be one of them.


	39. Two Little Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we check in with our friends in Denerim.

The bedraggled man serving as their contact left through the back door of the tavern, his purse of coin considerably heavier now that he had been paid for his information. Lessa was in the corner, already pulling her sweeping cloak from its hook and fastening it around her throat. As always, she wasted no time even when Zevran himself would rather dally.

“Can I assume you're ready to act on the information now, then?” Zevran asked. He stretched, reaching his arms into the air as his back popped in several places along his spine with a satisfying crack each time.

Lessa gave him an aggrieved smile. “Are you not? Would you perhaps like a nap while our lovely warden nightmare goes to ground? You were a crow, you should know that you do not hunt your prey an hour after it has been sighted. You strike in the moment, and the moment, my friend, is now.”

“Do you ever tire of being right all the time?” he scoffed. He jumped off the bed he had been lazing upon, thoroughly agitated that she was, in fact, right, and that the information that had been delivered likely meant they would be fighting today. He sauntered across the room and began dressing himself, pulling on his silver tipped boots and black cloak. The armor, scaled with finely crafted metal plates and helmed with a molded crow’s head, had been a gift from Eamon, who was, to say the very least, appreciative of Zevran's help. It was a sour note in the Theirin history to have the people of Denerim succumbing to unrest, and Eamon hoped that the pair of them could solve the problem before more people got hurt. Zevran liked to pretend outwardly that he was good at everything, but in truth this political game left a bad taste in the back of his mouth. He would very much prefer the honest work of simply killing a man. Which was certainly an option in this case, but the culprit in question had proven significantly harder to find than he would have liked.

But, as Lessa so eloquently pointed out, they had finally been tipped off as to where he was hiding. He thought it odd that the human warden, who looked to be of Tevinter heritage if Zevran's eyes could be trusted, would go to ground amongst the elves in the alienage, but then again it was possible his warden status granted him a higher accord among the group. They had always revered the wardens, ever since Melody and Alistair had helped solve that mess with the slavers all those years ago, but it was surprising that a warden so openly against the royal pair would still be shielded by them. Perhaps he had talked his way in, convinced them of the validity to his claims, but if he had managed to turn them against Melody and Alistair...that boded ill indeed.

“They will not welcome me.” Lessa said quietly, drawing his attention to her. She wasn't looking at him, her gaze drawn to Utharevas on her shoulder, stroking the creature's down just below his beak, but he could see the worry swirling in her bright eyes. She was unusually somber as she stared with an unfocused regard, and all of his instincts told him he should perhaps listen to her.

“The elves?” he prompted, although he didn't actually need the clarification.

Lessa rolled her eyes, giving him a look that spoke volumes. “No, the chickens. Of course the elves, fool.”

He chuckled, relieved at the return of her normal wit. “They wouldn't welcome their own mothers if they didn't have to. Come, we aren't going to make friends. Let us, as you said, strike before our prey disappears again.”

She smiled, the same little half smile that she usually wore, like she was always deciding between being amused or irritated. He opened the door for her and gave a grand flourish, smiling as warmly as he could manage, which seemed to cheer her considerably. He hid the fact that her unease was likely a worse sign than any they had yet seen. Lessa was more in tune with the way the winds of fate blew than anyone Zevran had known for a long time, holding the same quiet clairvoyance that Morrigan had always possessed. Both of them had bright eyes that seemed to brim with knowledge the rest of them could never understand, and Zevran wondered which was more dangerous: the warden or the witch.

 

***

 

“We lost all of them, ser.” the warden commander in front of him dipped his head in apology, his face barely visible in the dim light of the office. First Warden Anton turned his head to gaze absently at the carpet, his eyes picking up more detail than should have been possible in the dark room.

“What of Yutte's research? Was any of it retrieved?” he asked.

“No, ser. It appears the lab was burned by powerful magic before being buried by the mountain. It was a total loss.”

Anton sighed, and the breath rattled in his corroded chest like a song made for the dead. His blood was dark, his skin was dark, his very world was made of darkness, and it seemed the news he must endure would prove dark enough to match. At least he could say fate was consistent in its themes.

“And Gaius? Have you discovered his location?”

“Yes, ser. He is currently in Denerim. He is no longer responding to commands, but we have been advised to let him be, as he is causing a lot of trouble for the officials of the city. Apparently it has a fair chance of creating enough unrest to draw out the King and Queen.” the commander's head twitched, a quick, involuntary movement that gave off the impression he was somehow more insect than man. Was an insect what he had become? Was that what they were? Liquefied parasitic worms in human shaped husks, doomed to swarm until they had completed their tasks. If he had been capable of feeling such things anymore, the idea might have been nauseating.

“Very well, leave him, but I will not wait for chance to draw out the royalty. Let the others know we are marching by dawn tomorrow. If those deserters are anywhere, it is with the Inquisition, and I grow weary of letting those fools have even the illusion of power any longer.” he waved his hand dismissively, and the commander bowed low and exited the room. The hallway beyond his office was just as dark, if not darker, and no light seeped in from the sealed off windows as the door opened and closed.

No longer would they wait patiently for the darkness to sweep across the sky, heralding the loss of thousands of lives as corrupted wings stirred the wind. Anton was a man who had always believed in getting things over and done with, the faster the solution could be reached the better. Now was the time to act, to bring the change that the world demanded, that it cried out for with every petty war and every childish blunder. The elves and the humans could have their paltry spats, the dwarves could continue to hide in their burrows, and the mages could tear themselves asunder for all that it would matter. The wardens had always risen above the mindless clamor, and they would continue to do so even when the blights were dormant and the people weren't looking. It was his duty to move forward, to bring the old ways forth to greet the new. A dawn was coming, a dawn that would set the very horizon aflame and burn all those unprepared in the following fires, but it would bring an end to this cycle of death and decay.

The new world would rise from the ashes, and in its hideous visage they would all finally know true glory.

 

***

 

Much had been done to improve the alienage in the years that Alistair had reined, but an area so long couched in poverty could rarely be changed completely. Zevran could smell the odorous collection of scents unique to squalor long before they actually turned corner into the district. The less savory of the smells mingled with the more domestic in a strange way that made his stomach roll. Urine baked into the streets from years of drenched cobblestone soaking in the sun mingled with the pleasant aroma of herbs and spices roasting with the dinners in countless homesteads. Fragrant smoke drifted from the chimney tops and caught in the wind, picking up the smell of tar slapped inelegantly betwixt the roof tiles and mixing it all together. Even the owl protested to the air, his feathers sticking out in every direction as he shook his head, fathomless eyes narrowing as though he could glare the problem away.

They kept to the back alleys, which was not terribly hard considering most of the alienage was comprised of them. There were not so much streets as there was a courtyard with a webbing of trails trickling outward from it, all of them darkened with the long shadows of the towering buildings on either side. It had likely been too much to hope for, but Zevran still found himself frustrated and disappointed that they did not run into the man in one of these alleyways, where his death could have been quiet and swift. Instead they found him sitting beneath a spindly tree, its roots barely clinging to life as empty branches reached up towards the uncaring sky. He appeared to be sleeping, a small hat pulled over his unfortunate face, hands folded over his chest and his legs crossed against the ground. A few market stalls were erected in the area, and there were at least a dozen elves milling about, conducting business as usual and living their lives as though there weren't a dark horse of rebellion sleeping in their midst. The assassin and the mage crouched out of sight, observing and calculating, and Zevran knew Lessa would not like the situation any better than himself.

“I suppose you don't know any spells that could kill him without alerting any of the elves?” he asked her, his voice a husky whisper.

She leaned in close, her lips practically touching his sensitive ear. “If I did, he never would have left the tavern that night.” the laugh that followed her words was dark and quiet, and he shivered in response.

“We will have to approach him carefully then.” he stood up straight, preparing to walk out into the small clearing, but Lessa wrapped her hand around his elbow, her nails digging into his flesh just short of causing pain.

“This is a mistake.” she hissed.

He frowned at her. “This is a different tale than you were telling earlier. What happened to 'the time is now'?”

“I don't...” she bit her blue tinted lip, her almost fanglike teeth grazing over the flesh as she fretted. “This moment cannot be undone once it has passed.”

“That is generally how time works.” he quipped.

“Zevran, I'm serious. I can see...there is a darkness, down this path. You could avoid it. You could turn and leave and never look back, and you would never know what would have been.” her eyes shone like wisps, standing out even in the shadows of the alley, two moons in a demon's face painted with the signs for the god of death.

“Speak plainly then. What is it I am to avoid? What power do you have over things that have not yet happened?”

“I don't know!” she snapped, her patience taut and waning. “I just...call it a bad feeling, if you must. A woman's intuition.” He snorted indignantly and she searched his face, scanning his eyes as he pursed his lips, biting back the sarcastic retort that wanted to escape them. She sighed heavily, and he could sense her defeat as she let go of his arm. “I can see you will accept no alternative.”

“I can't just turn my back while this man toys with people's lives.” he explained, an apology without an apology.

“A noble choice. Let us hope I am wrong, then.” she said. She withdrew into her hood, Utharevas silently regarding him as she moved, and the conversation ended there.

He gathered his resolve and walked out into the open, strolling as though he were simply out spending the day with his admittedly ominous Dalish cousin. He doubted that he was convincing by the reaction of the elven locals, who narrowed their eyes, their ears tipping back subtly as they watched him with barely veiled contempt. They made their way towards the warden, Zevran quietly prepping his muscles to pull his blades when they got close enough, but he was denied his chance for surprise when the warden looked up, his eyes drawn immediately to the pair approaching him. He stood, towering above the smaller elves, and the sneer on his face held no hint of shock.

“Ah, look my dear, it is our warden friend.” Zevran said. He wasn't sure how much he actually hoped to be able to talk him into coming with them, quietly or otherwise, but the close quarters with the other elves meant he at least needed to try.

“Two little birds have come to sing me a song.” the man chanted, his voice coming in an odd cadence.

“I could sing much better with a drink in my hand. Don't I owe you from the other night?” Zevran gave him a full lipped smile.

“Ah, but crows and owls have no voice, and they do not grace the trees with melodies.” the warden was still grinning, and Zevran saw the way his eyes seemed to shake within his head, subtle twitches and movements that belied his motionless exterior.

“Perhaps they just need lessons from a griffon.” Zevran took a step closer, trying to sidle in near enough to strike.

The warden tossed back his head and laughed, a villainous sound that was far too loose to be sane. “Griffons eat little crows and wayward owls.”

“Zevran, something isn't right.” Lessa whispered fiercely. Her eyes were locked on the warden, and he could feel her tension rolling off of her in tempestuous waves.

“Elvhen of Denerim, these birds have heard my call and refuse to listen to reason. Shall we show them what we do to little birds that do not listen?” he spread his arms wide, a summoning to the people around him.

Zevran felt the mud slap against his cheek without ever seeing whom had actually thrown it, filthy water leaking down his chin as his head spun from the force of the impact. He heard Lessa squeal next to him and felt her magic envelope them a heartbeat later as Utharevas screeched in defiance. When he lifted his head and cleared the debris from his face, he watched as the owl shot through the air towards the warden, black talons pointed towards his pockmarked face. The bird would have done a great deal of damage had he ever been allowed to reach his target, but he was felled by a rock that smashed into his side, sending him tumbling to the ground, a still beating mass of feathers.

Rocks and other less savory objects bounced harmlessly against the outside of the barrier, but the elves seemed intent on harming them, moving to stand between them and the warden. Zevran ducked his head on instinct to avoid another projectile as he watched the son of a bitch escape down one of the side passages yet again, cursing under his breath at their repeated failure.

He turned and grabbed Lessa's shoulder, pulling her towards him trying to shield her despite the fact her magic was already performing that duty. “We have to get out of here.” He started pulling her away towards a different alley, but she shook off his grasp, dashing forwards towards the fallen owl. For one horrible moment Zevran was left unprotected, and several stones pelted against his back, creating a broad pathway of hits that would become bruises before the morrow. He grit his teeth, hunching over and losing track of the mage as he tried to make his way out of the line of fire. When he felt the barrier envelope him again he sighed with relief, glancing to his left where the mage now walked with him, cradling the owl as his chest heaved too quickly. They continued their flight through the narrow corridors, and only slowed their passage when they had left the alienage's walls behind.

“Well, that wasn't so bad as far as ominous dark fates are concerned.” he said around gulping breaths, smiling crookedly.

She glanced at him, but did not seem to truly see him. “That was only the first step. The darkness gets deeper the further into the woods you go.”

After that she did not speak, and they opted to travel in silence back to the inn to tend to their wounds, both the ones to their bodies and their pride.


	40. No Truer Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Autumn returns home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those of you interested and who don't follow me on tumblr, I got that job I was desperately pining for!!!
> 
> I don't start until the 10th, so I will try to get out as many chapters as I can before then. Once I start, I will most likely be back to a chapter a week. I will do more if I can, but I have no idea if I will have enough time, so we will just have to see!!! :)

Her arm was in a sling and the shoulder still throbbed, the cold of the mountains driving away the feeling of everything but the poorly healed injury. By Solas' estimation she would likely need to have it broken once more and reset properly if she was going to gain full function back, a process she wasn’t looking forward to in the least. She knew they would be able to numb her with a potion or tincture of some sort, but the idea of snapping parts of her on purpose left her skin feeling like it was crawling with a thousand tiny creatures, and she wished it weren’t necessary. Cassandra was fairing much better, having had things properly treated by Varric at the time of the injury, but Autumn had been dragged around roughly with shattered bones, and she would likely bear the scars from that treatment forever. Solas assured her that either Anders or himself would be able to repair the damage, but they both knew the worst of her scars were not physical, and as much as he might try, she knew he couldn't heal the ones that would linger the longest.

Traveling with the three of them again, however, she could almost believe none of it had ever happened. It felt much like it had in the days before Haven fell, the four of them running around the countryside trying to pull the Inquisition out of thin air, constructing a figurative battering ram that they could use to break down the doors of evil. There were many differences from those early days, however, and it was difficult for her to truly forget the passage of time that had thrown them all into chaos over and over again.

Solas seemed more dour and distant than he ever had before, as though he were reluctant to truly pick up where they left off. He still stayed near her, keeping a close eye on her, and his observance made her feel guilty for what she had put him through, knowing his paranoia was well deserved after what she had done. She had broken too many people's trust with this stunt, and she cursed the flawed logic that had driven her to act in such a way. None of them had deserved that, and she should have known that the ends did not always justify the means. She only hoped that with time she could show her regret to them all, and that they would forgive her for such a transgression. Her heart ached to make amends, but she knew there was no simple solution, and so she stayed silent, exchanging small smiles with him when she could, and trying not to notice the oppressive pall over his mood.

Cassandra and Varric, too, were different from those first treks through the Hinterlands. They still bickered, but there was no real animosity behind it anymore, no venom in the jabs slung at each other, and Autumn was astounded when they curled up next to one another at the end of each day. She realized now that they had always gone together, two pieces that fit so perfectly it almost defied logic, and she wondered if that was why it had taken them so long to settle. Things weren't supposed to be so easy, so flawless, and Varric and Cassandra had seen too much imperfection in the world to trust something good when they finally saw it. Autumn teased them mercilessly, of course, but the couple took it in stride, smiling at one another with secret messages sparkling in their eyes. It reminded her of all the times she had shared similar glances with Cullen over the war table, trying to be subtle but likely being more than obvious to the shrewd women that shared the council sessions with them.

She missed him, more than she had ever missed him before. The uncertainty of how he would welcome her home enhanced this, and she trembled with worry and apprehension, hoping he would still hold her even though she didn't deserve it. She didn't know if she could live through it if he didn't forgive her, and she certainly wouldn't be able to remain with the Inquisition if that were the case, but she wasn’t yet ready to allow her mind to think that far down that dark path. She wanted to be optimistic, to believe that she could make everything right again, that despite her shortcomings and her foolish ideas he would still love her, but she had torn herself down so many times that it was also hard to see any other option besides disaster. Now, in the aftermath of the chaos, she truly appreciated the things she had gambled in the hopes of winning Anders' life, and she wished she had taken time to find another way.

Looking back, it was incredibly painful to follow her own logic. She could see her reasoning, see the steps that she had taken to get to her conclusion, but now she could also see all the flaws, all the problems, all the twists and turns her thoughts had taken trying to avoid thinking about all of the things she wanted to hide from. She didn't know if she really wanted to admit it or not, but part of her had been hoping that she wouldn't make it back. It was as though all the mental scars she spent all her time trying to ignore had finally become too much, and she had broken. Part of her had wanted it all to end. She couldn't give up, because there were too many people depending on her, too many people she couldn't bring herself to let down, but she felt like she had found the loophole, the escape, a way to lose herself while still trying to help, while still being the person everyone needed her to be. Then, in those moments in the darkness, faced with her own mortality and pain, she had realized that hadn’t been true, that having it all end was still too…final. She was lucky that Solas had been true to his word, and stopped her from being so foolish. He was right, so very right when he had scolded her outside the ruins after they had escaped, and she was touched that he had cared enough to coax that promise from her. As always, Solas knew just what to say to make her feel better, and exactly how to handle her when she was a danger to herself. Maybe that was why things had gotten so bad inside her head in the first place. Solas prolonged absence leaving a hole in her chest that let all her sanity slowly trickle away. She fully intended to keep her promise to him, to never allow herself to forget what she meant to others, and she only hoped her makeshift family still trusted her enough for her to show them that.

She paused when Skyhold finally came into sight, the reconstructed battlements shining in the afternoon sunlight, a beacon of hope and hard won triumph. She had poured herself into building this place up, brick by brick soaked in her blood and sweat, her victories and failures mortared into the stone. It was more than just her home, it was _her_ , in a way, and looking down on it she was filled with a sense of belonging.

_Maker_ , she thought, _please let him forgive me_.

Soft fingers brushed against her shoulder, and she turned as Solas offered her a reassuring smile. He didn’t speak, but applied gentle pressure to her back, pushing her onward so that she had to take another step forward. She wanted to laugh, or turn and throw herself into his arms, to tell him all the reasons she was grateful to have him back, but all she managed was a tremulous smile. Her mind was clouded with a heady mix of anticipation and dread, and she couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. She nodded to him and strode forward, forcing her feet to take her closer to home, and miraculously she didn’t crumble, finding courage in a sense of acceptance. Whatever would be, she could at least face it, and even if this was the last moment of her life that she could ever hope to be happy, she knew that the next moments would have to come regardless, and then the moments after that, and the ones after that. Time marched on, and her trepidation was little more than a breath in a windstorm, and whisper to the wolf’s howl, unfelt and unheard, and ultimately only for her.

She saw the guards take off from the top of the battlements before they had crossed the bridge, and she wondered if she had ever seen a patrol move quite so fast. By the time they passed under the long shadows of the gates she could hear the commotion of people gathering on the other side. She hung back in the darkness for just a moment, all her dread wrapping around her legs and keeping her from moving forward. Solas stood beside her, quiet and soft. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t reach out to her, but he was with her, and she knew that he was with her no matter what happened, and there was something infinitely comforting in that. After all that she had done to him, manipulating him to serve her needs, he would still stand by her and offer support in the exact way that she needed. She gazed at her feet, her hair hanging around her face like great red hood, and she tried to focus on the courage she was supposed to have, the courage she tried to let everyone see, and not the tears that wanted to pour from her eyes.

Movement caught her attention and she glanced up, peering through the murky darkness where the sun didn’t reach. Even couched in shade, Cullen was golden, glowing like amber rolled in flame, honey baked in sunlight on a warm summer morning. For a moment they stood, staring at each other, her heart in her throat as she tried to read his expression, her brain too foggy with her elation at seeing him to be able to piece together if he looked happy or not. She couldn’t think around how _brightly_ he shone, all her thoughts lost as she took in the only sight she ever wanted to see again.

And then it seemed she blinked, and that hesitation was gone. He rushed to her, pulling her into his arms and crushing her against him, the fur of his cloak tickling the tip of her nose. He held her so fiercely that he jostled her arm, sending a spike of pain through her, but she ignored it, inhaling the way he smelled, deliriously relieved to be in his arms once more. He kissed to top of her head, and she felt him breathe deeply, and all at once she knew she was a fool a thousand times over for ever doubting how he would feel for her. There was no force in the world that could tear them asunder. Not would-be gods. Not the cloying fingers of the fade. Not the desperate jealousies of fallen colleagues. Not even her own self destruction. They were one, happy and whole when they could hold one another, and that was more a fact of life than anything else. There was no truer thing than the love between them, no law of nature or man more sure, and if there was anything that could stand up to the demands of fate, it was the love Cullen shared with Autumn.

She looked up at him, tears heavy on her eyelashes, and he dipped his head down, pressing his forehead to hers. He moved so that his hands wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her still as they stayed locked together, her body trembling against his.

“I’m so glad you’re safe.” He whispered, and the heartbreak in his voice tore her in two, shredded her like so much paper against a hurricane’s wrath.

She tilted her head and kissed his lips, and almost immediately she was lost in him as he returned it twofold. The tears slipped from her eyes, rolling into their mouths, her good arm clutching him as though she might tumble into the abyss if she let go. He tasted of happy memories, of futures lit up by a thousand rays of light, of promises that could never truly be broken. He tasted of love, of passion, of suffering long past, and of purity that cleansed her soul to the deepest depths so that no hatred could hide within her. He saved her with his lips, as he had done a million times before, and all the fractures she felt in her heart were tied together, with ribbons of satin and gossamer threads, looping them together for an eternity and a half. Maker, she loved this man. When they separated again she took a deep, bracing breath, the cold air like a balm on her empty, searing lungs.

“You don’t hate me?” she asked, because she needed to hear it, because she was fragile underneath everything else that she was, and the words meant something more out loud.

“I could never.” He replied, and the smile on his lips shone through despite the sorrow and hurt behind his eyes. He turned, his gaze falling on the rest of the homecoming group, and he smiled warmly at them. “Thank you for bringing her home.” He told them.

“Thank Chuckles.” Varric angled his thumb towards Solas, who darted his eyes away. “Without him, all of us would have been dust.”

Cullen released her and stepped over to Solas, yanking the slender elf into a bear hug before he had any time to protest. “It’s good to see you, Solas. Thank you so much for saving her.”

Solas smiled over the bigger man’s shoulder, returning the embrace stiffly but warmly. “It was no trouble, my friend.” He looked glad at the contact, and she could tell that despite his distance he had missed them, probably more than he would admit to himself. She was filled with hope again, hope that she had managed to pull something good out of all of this by bringing him back to be where he belonged. They were all home now, and all that was left was to save Anders, and help Melody with the wardens, before they could finally start living happily ever after, if there was such a thing.

Autumn cleared her throat awkwardly as the men stepped apart, Solas looking somewhat embarrassed at the display. Cullen reached out and took her hand, his arm twisting around hers supportively as he looked down into her eyes. As much as she wanted to immediately run to their room and reassure each other they were alive, as much as she wanted to sit and have the conversation where she could apologize to him a thousand times over, she knew that it wouldn’t be fair. She had many horrible reasons fueling her quest, but at least one of them had been worthy. Solas was here to help Anders, it was the whole reason that she had left, and she couldn’t make Lilly wait.

“Um, we should call a war council. So we can discuss how to proceed with Anders.”

Cullen smiled ruefully. “They’re already waiting. I had a feeling you might want to go there first when our scouts reported you were returning with Solas.”

Autumn nodded. “Let’s get on with it then.”

 

***

 

Lilly knew she was probably making everyone anxious with her pacing, but she couldn’t manage to keep her feet still. She still hadn’t slept. Even with the promise of dreamless sleep from the tempting green potion Dorian had given her, she hadn’t been brave enough to try. She set the bottle on her nightstand, and she stared at it long after the world around her had gone to bed, and she wondered if this was what it felt like to go insane. She had stopped feeling hungry ages ago, and she could feel her skin clinging weakly to her bones, her eyes hollow and staring at the vast expanses of nothingness that slipped in between the edges of reality. Where she got the energy to pace was an answer only a god could know, but the mystery didn’t keep her feet from moving, one step at a time, back and forth across the length of the war table. She gnawed on her fingernails as she walked. Part of her wanted to thank the group gathered for keeping themselves from staring, but every time she thought to speak she shredded another bit of nail with her teeth and the words were swallowed with the nervous habit.

Autumn had finally resurfaced, and the scouts had reported Solas tagging along with the returning group, which meant that they could finally do something about Anders. She couldn’t help but cling to the hope that all of this would finally be over, that she would finally be able to look into his eyes and know it was only him in there, that she could finally have him all to herself. Years of scraping by, fighting against a spirit just for the right to love each other, running from the world at large because no one could possibly understand the things that he had been put through, the reasons for what had happened…all of that could finally end. It was too much to hope for, and yet it was _all_ she hoped for. She didn’t need riches, she didn’t need belongings, she didn’t even truly need a home. All she needed was Anders, whole and healthy and safe in her arms, and she would have done, would still do, anything to have that.

The door opened and she turned so quickly her hair flared out like the skirt of a Rivaini dancer. She hadn’t had any words in the first place, but if she had she would have lost them when Autumn walked in, Cullen and Solas trailing behind her like two bodyguards escorting precious cargo. Her arm was in a sling and her face looked drawn, but she still managed to spare a brilliant smile. Lilly wondered how much that smile hid, if Autumn felt the same fear and hatred and anger towards the world that always seemed to be nipping at her own heels. If she did she never showed it. Autumn always looked at ease, she always looked brave, and Lilly wished she could be even half as good as that kind of woman.

“You found him!” she blurted before she knew what she was doing, staring from Autumn to Solas. She didn’t care that she hadn’t said hello, she didn’t care that none of them got to welcome back their friend. The only thing that mattered was the end, the end of this long, drawn out, torturous waking nightmare that had been her sentence since the moment she had graced her mother’s womb.

Autumn cleared her throat, looking at the elven mage with a strange expression on her face. “Yes, so to speak.” Solas raised an eyebrow at her, a small smile quirking his lips

Lilly ignored the exchange, nearly bursting with energy. “And you’ll help? You know how to save him?”

“I have a theory, yes.” Solas looked uncomfortable as he spoke, but Lilly hardly registered the hesitation.

Cullen seemed to pounce on it, however. “Just a theory? So you don’t know?”

Solas clasped his hands together behind his back, standing up straight. “I am relatively certain that we should be successful in drawing the spirit from within Anders…” he hesitated again, his eyes going to the Inquisitor with an inscrutable expression.

“Let me guess, it is dangerous?” Vivienne scoffed.

Josephine shrugged and bit her lip. “We have already put everyone in danger by keeping him here. Not that I object,” she added quickly, “but how much worse could the danger be?”

“The danger is not to everyone so much as it will be to the Inquisitor.” He inclined his head in Autumn’s direction, and Lilly felt a flutter of fear dance its way across her heart.

“No.” Cullen said.

Autumn glanced at him, an imperious grimace on her face. They held the gaze for a long moment before she turned her attention back to Solas. “What’s the plan?”

“Your mark serves as a small connection to the fade. I believe that if we channel the right spell through it we can draw Justice out using you as a conduit, of sorts.” Solas said.

Autumn looked at her hand hanging out of the edge of the sling, horror crossing over her face. “Could I have done that the whole time?”

Solas chuckled with a doleful smile. “I do not believe so. While the orb was still functioning the true power of the anchor would have been tied to it. That, and the danger in this process would have made any attempt impossible, as we could not have risked the only person capable of manipulating the rifts.”

“So what is the danger?” Cullen asked slowly, as though dreading the answer to the question.

“In order for this to work there is a period of time where Justice will be within Autumn.” Solas cast a frown in her direction, as though expecting some reaction from her. When he received none, he continued on. “It is possible that he could overwhelm her, or that she would be unable to push him out after an initial transfer.”

Vivienne scowled. “So she could become possessed herself.”

“Yes. That is why I initially did not wish to help.”

Cullen cut his hand through the air. “It’s too dangerous.”

Lilly gaped at him. “So what, you think we should just let him die?” she turned to Autumn, just barely keeping from falling to her knees at the woman’s feet. “Please, I know this is asking a lot, but I can’t…we can’t just give up on him! If I could do it myself I would, but I…” she clutched her chest, overwhelmed at the situation. Could she really ask her friend to risk her life for her love? But then what other choice did she have? If she could take the mark from her and do this herself, she would do it without a second thought. She would _not_ accept anything less than trying, and she would not think about failure. They would succeed because they had to, because there was no other reality she could face, because the world had taken enough from her, and it was not getting this.

“No.” Cullen barked. He turned to Autumn, his expression fierce. “We have to find another way. There has to be something more we can do. I won’t have you deliberately bring a demon into your mind.”

Solas nodded. “I agree with Cullen. I think the risk to Autumn is too great, however sad that may be.” He didn’t look at Lilly, which was probably for the best so he couldn’t see the murderous expression that must have been on her face. Sad? She wanted to scream, to rant, to flip the table over and use one of the legs to bash someone’s head in. _Sad_ did not begin to cover what she felt, what she would feel.

Autumn tilted her head, looking towards her advisors thoughtfully. “Will Anders be able to wait long enough for us to find another solution?”

Vivienne shook her head. “Unlikely. He is already far past the point most would have lost control, and the constant block to his magic is not healthy.”

The room fell silent, and Lilly felt each fraction of a second stretch out, pregnant with tension, until she had lived years in the same moment, waiting for someone, anyone to stand up and say they would try anyway. Cullen looked furious, stubborn, an unmovable mountain that would stand in her way, while Autumn looked flat, tired, pensive as she stood there looking at the surface of the table. The others avoided Lilly’s gaze, avoided looking at her as she fell apart just a little bit more. She was held together by bits of string, torn stitches and frayed edges, and this little moment, full of horrible ideas that tried to rip her hope out of her clutching hands, this moment would kill her if she didn’t end it.

“No!” she screamed, slamming her palms against the table, sending little flags and markers flying. “We can’t let him die!”

“And if we do this we could lose them both!” Cullen shot back. “I love Anders, I do, but I can’t let Autumn kill herself trying to save him.”

“And what if the roles were reversed?” Lilly spat. “What about when they _were_ reversed? Anders risked his life when we rushed back to save Autumn in Emprise du Lion, without hesitation.” She glared at him, daring him to refute her point. He couldn’t really think saving Anders was an unworthy risk…could he?

He sighed, his shoulders sagging as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Hawke, the situation was clearly different. That was – ”

Lilly cut him off before he even had a chance to spout off whatever bullshit reasons he dared offer. “It was the same and you know it! Don’t try to tell me your love is worth more than mine just because Anders has made mistakes!”

“I won’t sit here and debate the worth of the lives of the people I care about.” His hands were balled up into fists as he stared her down, and Lilly had never wanted to punch him more. “Anders knew the risk he took when he became what he is, I won’t let you force Autumn to pay his consequences.”

Lilly’s jaw fell open, her unbelieving ears ringing. “Really?! Cullen, we have ALWAYS been there for you, even when you turned your back on us…even if you had still hated us we would have done everything in our power to help you if we could. We came when your Inquisition called, even though you SWORE you would kill Anders if you saw him again. If Autumn were the one who would die without help, you would face down the void to save her!”

“Of course I would, but – ”

“ _Enough!_ ” Autumn’s voice cut through the argument like a hot knife, sharp and lethal, and all eyes turned to her. “Stop it, both of you. I’m going to do it, I’m going to save him. The matter has already been decided, and there is _no more room for discussion_.” She didn’t give them a chance to respond before she turned to Solas, “When can we start?”

Solas was frowning, but he didn’t hesitate to answer. “I will need to help you focus the magic of the anchor, so I need time to prepare the spell.”

“Will a day be long enough?” Autumn asked.

Solas sighed heavily, resigning himself to whatever fate he feared this would bring about. “Yes, I can be ready by morning.”

“Fine then. We will reconvene tomorrow morning in the cells. Dismissed.” Autumn snapped.

Lilly sank to her knees as Autumn spun on her heel, storming out of the room like she wanted to run as far and as fast as she could. Lilly was vaguely aware of Cullen rushing after her, but she didn’t see much after that, her sight full of tears and blurred colors. She wrapped her arms around herself, curling into a small ball on the floor, letting the cold stone press into her skin as she sobbed openly. They would do it, she would do it, and her relief was so great that it threatened to flood the room, to fill it with all the tears and terror that was rushing out of her chest. They would try, and she willed fate to turn their way for once, to finally give them a break in the onslaught of horror that had been her life. Lilly had walked a thousand miles, lived through a thousand minutes wrapped up into a million days, and all of it would be lost and meaningless if they failed…

Tomorrow morning would decide everything, and she couldn’t believe the end was so close.


	41. Elegant Unraveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Autumn and Cullen fully reconcile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone ask for poetic smut? No? WELL TOO BAD HERE IT IS. 
> 
> Also, if you guys are interested in an unconventional pairing, head on over to this fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4146000/chapters/9352113
> 
> I'm the beta for it, and it is a ton of fun to read. It's Trevelyan and Sebastien Vael (trust me, you need to check out this ship). GO LOOK AT IT.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy this little mini Sunday treat. :p

She moved fast, darting around the shocked nobles lingering in the great hall as she raced to the back of the room. Cullen had to work hard to keep up with her, not willing to let her slip away to hide, not after all their time apart. He could understand that she was upset, but he wanted to be there for her this time, to show her that she could rely on him, and hopefully convince her she never had to run away from him again. She reached the door to their tower seconds before he did, throwing it open and slipping into the darker stairwell beyond. He made it inside the door with her, the wood snapping shut a half second later.

“Wait!” he grabbed her elbow, his fingers engulfing her slender arm, and she stopped in her tracks, almost deflating, as though her momentum had been the only thing helping her stand tall. “Autumn…”

She turned and her eyes were full of diamonds, glittering tears that were falling like twin waterfalls of jeweled pain from those pretty green fields. “I’m _sorry_!” she cried, and then she flung herself into his arms.

Cullen held her, pulling her into his chest as her shoulders shuddered with her sobs. The woman he held was no longer the Inquisitor, no longer the indomitable rogue that had torn down the heavens. This was a girl, pushed through a life that had never been kind to her, a girl whose smiles lit up the world even if they were lies, whose laughter had set him free when he thought he would die a chained man. This person was broken, all of her pieces falling to the floor around them, and it was all he could do to hold her together, to press her closer to him and hope she could feel his heart beating for her. She spent so much energy trying to hide; from him, from the world, from the things that haunted her at night. It was time she fell apart, time that she knew he would love all her broken edges. It was about time that she come home.

“I was so worried for you.” His voice was rough as he spoke to the crown of her head.

She sniffed loudly, disentangling herself to swipe at her nose. “I’m so sorry. I was…I should never have gone like that.” She shook her head, and her unruly curls danced around her face like tendrils of flame.

He shifted so he could take her chin in hand, tilting her face up to look at him. “You could have trusted me. You could have _told_ me about it. I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like I wouldn’t support you.”

Her eyes grew wide. “What? No! Of course I trust you! I trust you more than I trust anyone else in the world! I know that you always have my back.” She grimaced, her gaze trailing away to the ground as she tried to find her words. “That’s not…”

“Then why couldn’t you tell me? Why did you have to leave while I slept?” his voice broke over the question and she flinched.

Autumn looked down, staring at his chest as she curled her free hand into a fist. “Because I had to put myself in danger. The entire _point_ of why I left was to throw my life in peril. You never would have let me go.” She chewed on her lower lip, keeping her eyes from his.

He watched her for several moments, scanning her visage as he contemplated this. “Well, you’re not wrong.” He said finally, shaking his head. “Why was that the only solution? We would have found a way to help them without – ”

“Maybe, maybe not.” She interrupted. “You were in there, you know we don’t have enough time. We _haven't_ had enough time since this whole nightmare started, and I wasn’t willing to take the chance that something better would just happen to come along.  Look, I’m not saying it was my best plan, but I knew I had to draw Solas out. If he could look me in the eye in person and still refuse…then I would have looked for another way. But we _both_ know that he’s the best man for the job, that we need him to do this.”

He wanted to ask why putting herself in danger would have drawn him out, but his tongue held firm against the roof of his mouth as he considered what the answers might be. He had a sinking feeling that perhaps the quiet mage held Autumn in a higher regard than they had previously thought, and he wondered if he should say something to her. Did she know? Would she care? He was not such a petty man that he felt jealous over whatever connection she had with him – she had married HIM, after all – but if she were as clueless as he had been until this fiasco, until moments ago, then perhaps it was his duty to inform her. He would have been a better man to say something, but the tremulous hold he had on her and her sanity still seemed too fragile, and he couldn't bring himself to speak. Not in this moment, at any rate. Perhaps another time, but this moment was for them, and he would selfishly take as much of it as he could.

“I owe him my thanks for bringing you back.” he told her. He wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumb and kissed her, and by the time his lashes met over his shut eyes he was lost in her, lost in a way he had been dying to be for what seemed an eternity by now.

Their lips joined and she melted into him, feeding his need with the warm press of her tongue, in the way her hips tilted into his, melding them together through the layers of their clothes. They forgave each other for the long string of transgressions wordlessly, the apologies over and done with, and now all that remained was the need to remind themselves just what they meant to one another. His hands roamed across the planes of her body, familiar and new, memorized and mysterious, and every breath that escaped her lips was all the wind in the world, rushing past his face as her fingers ran through his hair, pulling loose the careful design so that his curls resurfaced. He backed her against the wall and buried his face in her neck, her little gasps spurring on a flame within him that had sparked to life years ago and burned hot and bright and loudly within him, devouring him until there was only her, only him, standing in the ashes of the people they used to be.

She hitched her leg up, wrapping it around him as she ground her hips upward, and the low moan that escaped her throat was a symphony, the voices of long lost gods raising up in praise. It was easy to lift her, to wrap her around himself so that her feet left the ground, her connection to the world through him as he started ascending the long flights of stairs. They devoured one another with every step, breathing and laughing and shining like the sun, and he took his time to taste her skin, using his tongue to worship her, feeling the way her pulse beat against his lips as they marked her.

They made it through the door to their room before he could wait no more, and hands shaking with anticipation and passion were turned to buttons and strings, untying knots until pale flesh was exposed. They settled against the stairs, clothing strewn about in a beautiful disaster, and he was on his knees before her, reveling in her beauty, counting her scars with his eyes as his hands gripped her hips. When he sank into her, her legs wrapping around him like a vice as she arched her back, her lips forming a perfect O as she tossed her head back, he knew the true meaning of love. He had known it before, knew it every time they tumbled through the sheets together, knew it every time he saw the sun cascade through her hair, knew it every time she laughed and turned her eyes his way, and now he knew it again. He didn’t know if everyone felt this way, if all people got a chance to bask in the wonder of having their heart explode into a thousand points of light that rivaled the stars, but he knew that it was everything. She was everything, and he had never known anything so perfect, so wonderful, so unspeakably divine as the feeling he got from loving her.

The slap of skin on skin echoed as he thrust frantically, both of them shaking as their bodies came alive. Her hands clung to the top of a stair, her knuckles white as she moaned a never ending string of affirmations, her hips cradled in his hands as he held them aloft to meet with his. It was fervent, delicious, impossible bliss, and as she went tumbling over the edge of her climax she screamed his name to the rafters, her eyes screwed shut and sweat beading on her brow, rivulets of perspiration gathering between her swaying breasts. He leaned forward, bringing his lips to hers to swallow her cries, and after a moment he followed her into madness, releasing all the affection he had into her, pouring out relief and joy and endless love.

There was a moment at the end that always filled him with wonder. It was a small moment that seemed to exist in between real moments, a slip of time that hovered in the midst of everything else, spinning them in a motionless, timeless haven of something so beautiful it was almost painful. They held each other, breathless, their bodies still pulsing with the same rhythm that had spurred them forward, skin tingling with the relief of their elegant unraveling. In that moment is was like the borders of his soul disappeared and the world poured in, everything that was good in the universe filling him to the brim, easing him into a peace that was supposed to be unattainable. His skin next to hers, his heart next to hers, his breath mixed with hers; it was everything, it was eternity, and it was theirs. He felt it now, crystallized with a clarity that was subtle and obvious, and he could see everything mapped out before them. He could see their lives, countless nights of soft murmurs and tender touches. He could see their future, little pockets of peace wrapped up in the chaos. He could see his death, someday far from this moment, and no matter how it ended there would be a smile on his face, because he could look back and think of moments just like this, and know that he had lived as no other man had. Cullen was a king in these moments, ruler of all the world, the owner of more wealth than he could have ever imagined, and it was feeling like this that let him know he had made the right choice in following her.

When they came down from their shared high she winced, and he could see her try to shift weight off of her left arm, pain contorting her features for a moment.

“Maker’s breath, I’m sorry!” he mumbled, extricating himself from her so he could help her off of the stairs, the wood leaving red marks where it had pressed too long into her skin.

She laughed easily, her eyes full of life. “Relax, love. I’m just a little sore.” She stood a few steps above him, so that their heads were level as she leaned into him, their bare flesh warm against the cool of the air around them. She kissed the tip of his nose, grinning like she had imparted some great secret in the act, and he enveloped her in his arms, nuzzling her cheek.

“I love you.” He husked.

“I love you, too.” She told him.

They made their way to the warmth of the bed, enjoying a peace they knew might not last long. Cullen wouldn’t waste the opportunity, and he showed her again just how much he loved her, as he would every day until the day he died.


	42. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen helps Autumn work through some things and Autumn and Solas combine their powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter were very difficult for me to write. I had originally intended for the conversation at the beginning to happen "off screen", so to speak, but after some of the comments on the last chapter I thought it would be doing a disservice to the story and the characters to leave it out. 
> 
> I tried very hard to get the scene right, and to really capture what I was going for, but because of how close to home this particular scenario is for me it was very, very hard to do. This scene has a lot of elements from things that are very personal to me and my own struggles with PTSD, and it was so very difficult to take that and write it down so that it makes sense while still being interesting and entertaining. Hopefully I have done a decent job, and if not I hope you guys can forgive me for the shortcomings. :) 
> 
> Anyhow, beyond that, hopefully you guys enjoy the chapter, as we DO finally get some positive things happening. :) Enjoy them while they last! <3

He could tell she was awake already by her breathing patterns. When she slept, she usually took long, deep breaths, a solid rhythm that rarely wavered, a dependable lullaby that never failed to bring him comfort when the long fingers of the night held his eyes open. Currently she was breathing evenly but shallow, the occasional sigh breaking through the cadence and shifting the air across his skin. Her fingers toyed absently with his hair and her cheek was nestled against his chest, curling into him and keeping her body very still. He could tell without looking that her gaze would be unfocused, her mind a million miles away, probably in some dark place where she felt light could not reach. He was familiar with that place, had even been there many times himself. It was the place where the nightmares came from, the place where the scars of his past built walls that reached up past the heavens, blocking the sky so that all he could see was the stack of things he didn’t want to remember. He knew what it was to be lost there, knew what it was like to be trapped and alone even among people that cared. It was time that he started trying to help her back out of there, to show her that trying to hold all that darkness inside only bred more darkness, shadows birthing shadows in an endless chain of self-propagating terror. He shifted and brought his hand up to rub the length of her back and she jumped at the sudden change, tilting her head to look up at him.

“You’re awake.” Her eyes were wide, glittering green-black in the solid darkness of the room.

Cullen smiled at her. “As are you.”

She smirked, trailing her fingers along his bare chest. “Hm, you’re very observant.”

“You’ve been awake for a while, haven’t you?” he kept his tone even, ensuring she would take the question seriously, cutting off any chance of the conversation drifting into more distracting territory.

She averted her eyes, looking off into that far off distance again. “Yes.”

He sat up so that he could face her better, to read her expressions and make sure he was holding her attention. “Are you ready to talk?”

The panic that flashed over her face was unmistakable, but she quickly tried to cover it with nonchalance. “Now? We have to be down to meet the others in – ”

“Not for some time yet.” He forestalled the excuses. He would not force her, but he hoped that she would not run from him this time. She looked like she was ready to protest further, but he reached up and brushed her errant curls away from her face, holding her cheek for a moment. “Don’t hide from me, love.”

She sighed and bit her lower lip. “I’m not hiding from _you_ , I’m hiding from myself.”

“I know. But that doesn’t help anything either.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, giving her a calm smile.

She glanced down, shame practically tattooed across her forehead. “I know.”

He started rubbing slow, easy circles on the small of her back. “What happened in the fade?”

It took her a long moment before she spoke, and he could see her thinking of how to proceed, see all the little thoughts of anxiety and panic flitting through her mind like spears of light tossed just behind her pupils. “We were only there for a short while before the Nightmare demon showed up.”

“I know, Hawke was kind enough to fill me in on that much. I want to know what happened to _you_.” His voice was as soft as the rustle of the sheets as she shifted, fidgeting nervously, never quite sitting still even as she refused to completely pull away from him.

Her eyes lost some of their luster and focus as she gazed at nothing in particular, her stare traveling around to various points in the room, never staying long on one spot. “It was…it was Samson. My nightmare, I mean. I was chained to a wall and the Nightmare put on his face and…” she stopped, her lips working soundlessly for a moment before she clamped her jaw shut. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, the muscles along her spine tensing as though she were ready to bolt, a scared halla scenting wolves on the wind.

He remained silent, using his hand on her back to calm her, to slowly coax the words out of her at a pace that she could handle. He knew that this was the hardest part. Living through it was easy, these things that marked the soul. It was after, on the nights when the heart didn’t want to accept what the brain knew had happened, the nights where the body remembered phantom pains and fears that never truly healed, the nights where the whole world seemed imaginary because there could simply be no understanding of the events that had taken place; it was in these moments when the weight of living could truly be felt, in every fiber of an exhausted body, torn apart and put back together and never given a reason to believe it would get better. Every minute was a struggle, another stone placed in a riverbed of anger and resentment, worry and fear the water rushing over them, burying whatever was left of the person that had existed before. Survival was easy, it was instinct, it was a body demanding continuation in the face of whatever might claim its end. Moving past that moment, moving on to a life that didn’t contain horrors and nightmares and threats beyond measure, that was what had often seemed impossible to him on his darkest days. He knew very well how hard it was to wake up each day and face a life after surviving, and he knew what it was like to give into that darkness when the light seemed only to burn.

Autumn finally continued with a flat, empty voice, her emotions carefully smashed until they resembled one grey lump of nothing. “He had his hands on me.” She clenched her fists, the fabric of the sheets bunching in her tiny fingers. “He was going to…to…” she swallowed and trailed off, her eyes wide and glassy, her mind trapped in moments that were no longer happening.

“Say it.” He prompted, as gently as he could manage.

She shook her head, curls flying in every direction. “I don’t want to.” She whispered, a plea that shook like a kitten half drowned in the rain.

“Why?” he knew the answer without asking the question. _Saying_ it took the most courage of all. Forming words that held the truth was like jumping off the edge of a cliff, leaping headfirst into icy waters that would be so cold they burned, drowning in reality that was too real to withstand. Speaking of it always seemed as bad as living it, perhaps even worse. Inside the dark corners of all those murky thoughts, that was where the damage could be controlled, that was where it could be hidden and denied. Releasing it into the world was unknown, unpredictable, and after all that had been lived through already it was too much to ask to face more, too much to bring up that box marked _danger_ to open it for all to see.

“Because saying it out loud makes it real. It makes all these memories and feelings real. I don’t want them to be real.” She bit back the start of a sob, and he could see her holding all of it inside her chest, full to bursting of things that wanted desperately to come tumbling out if she could only find the bravery to let them.

“They’re real whether you talk about them or not.” He said. “Keeping it in is what gives it power over you. That’s where the demons want to be, locked inside your head. It’s only when you push them out that you can start to heal.”

When she looked at him the naked hope in her face nearly broke his heart. “Is that how you got better?”

He grimaced, craving better answers for her but having none to give. “I don’t know that you can ever get better from things like that. But that was how I started to move on. Admitting the things that happened to me, and how badly they affected me, was the first thing I did to set myself free. It was what allowed me to move forward, to let go of much of the hate that was eating me alive, and brought me to where I am today.”

Autumn nodded, taking a deep breath, the last gulp of air before the bitter plunge. “He wanted to rape me. He wanted to, back in the Temple of Mythal, and he _would_ have, if Solas hadn’t been there. Then, again, in the Nightmare. He was going to try again, and I couldn’t stop him…all I could do was cry like some broken child!” her voice rose with every word, a hollow sound that filled the room with shrill self-deprecation and guilt.

He shook his head, wishing could reach in and show her the truth of the matter, show her how impossibly brave and strong and brilliant she really was. “You’re human, and you reacted in the only way you felt you could.”

“But look at me now!” she gestured wildly, tears welling up as her lower lip trembled. “Scared to even talk about it, running off without telling anyone! I can’t even trust myself to make decisions anymore!”

Cullen took her chin in hand, tilting her face so that she had to meet his eyes, forcing her to listen to him while her mind fought to escape the moment. “You are not broken. You are strong, you are smart, and you _survived_. What you have gone through has left its mark on you, but it did not break you, so you do not need to be fixed. Trust yourself, trust your feelings and your heart, and let all of the fear and anger go.”

And that was what it took, that was what she had needed to hear. She collapsed against him, dissolving into tears that weren’t a distraction, tears that were honest and vulnerable, tears that were a release of all the things she had bottled up inside while she tried to be a person who had never suffered before. He felt her draining out the poison that had festered in her mind, pulling out the thorns of trauma one by one, until she was raw and bleeding but exposed and ready to heal. He wished it had come sooner, he wished he had pushed harder for this conversation before she had sunk quite so far into despair, but it was a relief to him that it had finally happened. There was no forgetting, there was never a way to truly get better, but there was a way to move on, and finally she had reached that point.

After some time her sobs turned to sniffles, the sniffles to muffled sighs, and he knew that she was ready to continue the conversation. It was important to finish, to wrap up the last parts of what had happened so that those tiny shards of the nightmare didn’t work their way under her skin, leaving new scars to prolong her recovery.

“What happened after that?” he asked.

“Solas showed up, and killed the Nightmare demon.” Her voice was ragged from crying but strong, even, and lacking the undertone of horror it had carried before. “We got in an argument. He was angry I had gone into the fade, I was angry that he left. He helped us out, but said he wouldn’t come back to help with Anders.”

“So you went to find him.”

She shrugged. “Basically.” He opened his mouth to comment, but she waved off his attempt before he could find the words. “I know, I know, it was stupid and selfish. I owe him just as many apologies as I owe you.”

“I don’t want your apologies, I just want your honesty.” He pulled her closer and placed a kiss on the top of her head, smiling as he inhaled the scent of her hair. “No lies, no secrets, remember?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I just…I didn’t know how to be this person. This person that’s been changed…I didn’t feel like myself, I haven’t for some time, I guess, and I had no idea how to talk to anyone about that. So I buried it, deep, deep down inside, and tried to pretend none of it was happening.”

“You can _always_ talk to me. Even if you don’t know what you’re talking about, or why you need to talk about it, you can always come to me.” He brushed his fingers along her back, wishing that he knew the words to explain what he meant, hoping his touch could impart just how much he loved her, just how much he wanted to be there for her.

She snorted a breathy laugh out through her nose, smiling up at him. “Well, that’s certainly a better plan than running off and trying to get myself killed.”

He choked out a bitter chuckle. “Indeed.”

She shifted, settling closer in his arms and bringing her lips up to his for a slow burning kiss that set his blood aflame, his nerves tingling from the point of contact all the way down his spine. He wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the way her body melded to him, her muscles sliding against his own as they sighed together.

The knock at the door was most unwelcome.

Cullen groaned as Autumn wriggled her way out of his arms, flopping backwards onto the other side of the bed as cold air rushed into the empty space she left behind. He rolled over, grabbing his pants and throwing them on as he tossed the sheets aside, giving his wife one last longing look before padding down to answer the summons.

A nervous scout stared back at him from the other side of the door. “Sorry to disturb you, Commander, but Solas asked me to inform the Inquisitor that he is ready, and that you can begin whenever she is ready.”

Cullen heard Autumn moving around, apparently falling out of bed rather inelegantly, a thump followed by several curses indicating that she had probably stubbed her toe again. He rolled his eyes at the commotion behind him, and opened his mouth to speak, but Autumn’s excited shout cut him off before he had a chance to get a word in.

“Tell him we’ll be right down!”

He gave him a smile and then nodded his head, letting the man know he could follow the order. The scout left in a hurry, his armor clanking as he rushed down the stairs to pass along the response. Cullen shut the door and made his way back in, scrubbing at his face to wipe away the last dregs of sleep still clinging to his tired bones. He felt the absence of Friedman keenly this morning, as his regular delivery of warm tea and breakfast would have done the both of them a world of good today. Hopefully the mess in Denerim wouldn’t keep him long, and when he returned perhaps life could start resembling something close to normal once again.

The breath was driven out of his lungs as Autumn barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his middle and nearly knocking him flat on his back. Her wicked little fingers traced along his spine as she looked up at him, grinning from ear to ear.  

“Have I told you yet that I’m glad to be home?”

Cullen raised a brow at her, unable to stop the smirk from forming on his face. “You might have implied it a couple of times last night.”

She rolled her eyes and slapped his chest, trying to pull away, but he grabbed her as she was turning, holding her tightly and peppering kisses all along her neck. She squealed, squirming in his grasp as his stubble dragged the sensitive skin, laughing breathlessly.

“No, no, no that tickles!”

He pulled her in even tighter, resting his chin on her shoulder and lightly kissing her ear. “I’m glad you’re home, too.” He murmured.

Reluctantly he let her go, and they dressed for the day, and even though there were still dangers looming ahead of them, he felt more optimistic than he had in days.

 

***

 

The morning was grey and dreary as they trekked down the steps towards the cells. She was regretting the number of acrobatics she had performed the night before, as her shoulder was now a swollen, throbbing mess that would need to be tended to at some point, probably soon. She could still use the arm, however, and the mark seemed to be behaving itself, so at least she would be able to perform whatever spell was necessary to put an end to this mess before it spiraled even more out of control. She felt the cold through the thin stockings clinging to her legs, the short dress she had thrown on ill-suited for the weather, but it was a rich blue color with a bouncing skirt, and the way the pretty fabric danced around her thighs always made her feel energetic and excited, and she wanted all the positive vibes she could get for today’s endeavors.

Solas met them as he was walking out of his solar, his quarters having been kept in perfect condition since his disappearance. It had been Autumn’s quiet way of hoping he would one day return, one small thing she could ensure stayed the same even as everything else changed around it. She flashed him a brilliant smile in greeting, feeling every bit of the expression after seeing him home again. She had missed his presence, missed his counsel, missed all the times they had bickered about philosophy or politics. Seeing him back in Skyhold was like seeing the sun rise over the Frostbacks, something regular and normal and unchanging, and that, combined with the morning’s other breakthroughs, was putting her in an excellent mood.

“Good morning, Solas.” She dipped her head in the pantomime of a formal bow as Cullen caught up with her, his fingers brushing against the small of her back.

“Good morning Autumn, Cullen.” Solas’ smile was stiff but sincere. He still looked drawn and tired, worry etched on his marble features. _She_ might be feeling confident and self-assured, but it was obvious the elven mage was not.

She walked up to him, taking his hand and giving it a small squeeze. “I’ll be fine.” She promised. “I’ve survived much worse, after all.”

He searched her face for a moment before he nodded. “I should remember you are not helpless.” He applied gentle pressure to her fingers before he let her go, gesturing that she lead the way.

The three of them made their way down the stone steps towards the dungeons, Lilly already pacing in anxious circles around Cole and Melody. Cole was being brought in because he was the only one among them that could truly discern whether or not the demon was gone, and Melody had insisted she be present to provide support for Lilly and Anders. Autumn shivered as the wind picked up, whipping the sash from her belt around and nearly tripping her as it twisted up in her legs. The morning was oppressive, the sky a great blank purgatory that promised icy rain sometime soon, threatening to soak the already sodden ground. Still, the weather couldn’t affect her mood, as the day was filled with as much promise as there had been for her in some time. Today she would save her friend, and then in the next few days they would figure out how to deal with the wardens. Finally she had a chance to take several positive steps forward, with all her friends together, and it was hard to let a few raindrops dampen that kind of hope.

When they reached the rest of the group their greetings were silent. Autumn was shocked again at the transformation of the normally boisterous rogue. Lilly looked like she had already died, and all that remained was half a ghost, gaunt and tortured, clinging to the world like a spider web rattled in the wind. It was all she could do not to scoop her friend up and promise her it would all be okay, swear to her all over again that she would fix this. She had a feeling the words would fall on deaf ears, that Lilly would need to see something positive before she could ever believe it had actually happened. So many people, so many things, had failed Lilly over the years. It was time she was finally granted some peace.

Cullen opened the door and held it open, and one by one they filed into the dark stairwell, marching towards the dungeon. The others slouched like they were traveling to an execution, but Autumn kept her shoulders back and her head held high. She _would_ do this. For Lilly, for Anders, for herself, for all of them. This was the start of a new time in her life, the start of the days where she would move on from the shadows in her past. Things were finally fitting back into place, people finally coming together in the way they always should have, and she would succeed at this so they could all have something to celebrate. She would not let this be an end, because today needed to be a beginning.

The cells were dark, the light filtering in through the windows too dim to bring any cheer to the ominous atmosphere. Even the fire from the torches seemed to sputter and smoke rather than produce any glow or warmth. The Templars stationed on either side of the cell nodded as they all crowded in, unlocking the door so that Anders could step out. He looked no better than Lilly, all skin and bones, a puppet whose strings had been yanked too roughly, leaving him loose and unfettered as he tried to hang on to his sanity. The worst part was the dead sorrow swimming in his eyes. Eyes that Autumn could remember thinking were so warm when she had first met him now only held regret and fear, clouded over with despair too thick to see through. He nodded to each of them, his face too haggard to bother with a smile, but he seemed to stop in his tracks when his gaze fell to Lilly, who was hovering just inside the door like it physically pained her to be in the room. He choked out a gasp, fingers clutching at his threadbare robes as his hands shook, taking a lurching step forward on unsteady legs.

“Maker, Lilly…what’s happened to you?” he asked, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth as his eyes shone with tears. She didn’t respond, merely stood there, her eyes wide in her thin face so that she resembled sun bleached bone, gaping sockets full of horror that held nothing more than the memories of the life she had lived. Her lips trembled, but she did not speak, and Anders rushed forward again only to stop directly in front of her, their bodies leaning towards each other but never touching.

“I’m fine.” She whispered finally, the least convincing statement any of them had ever heard.

“Lilly…I’m so sorry.” He reached up, a finger trailing along her cheek for the briefest moment before he drew it back.

She lifted her head, her eyes full of fire again, the touch drawing out the vigor that she so desperately clung to. “Don’t be sorry. Just be…just be Anders.”

He nodded, giving her one last wistful look before he turned back to the others in the room. He stood up straighter, throwing his shoulders back, prepared to face whatever would come.

“I’m ready.”

“Shall we begin, then?” Autumn asked, looking to Solas. “What do I do?” she held up her hand, staring at her palm as though the answers would suddenly appear there, perhaps shown to her through the anchor like the spectral images they had seen in the ruins of the Temple so long ago.

“Do you remember the rift in Crestwood?” Solas asked her, standing close and talking in a low tone meant for her ears only. She nodded, her memory of that particular rift quite vivid. “I will help you channel magic through the mark, much like I lent you my will that day. Focus on opening a link through the veil, focus on drawing out the spirit within him. Once you have him, focus on sending him back to where he belongs.”

Autumn nodded again, knowing that asking questions would serve no real purpose at this juncture. She knew that magic was largely something that had to be felt rather than explained, and that she would be operating on instinct more than anything. It helped to know he would be there with her, guiding her through the process. If there was anyone who understood this kind of magic well enough to teach her, Solas would be the one to do it.

Anders took up position in front of her, and the others stepped back, giving them a wide space to work in, although she wasn’t sure how necessary such a precaution would be. Solas stepped around behind her, glancing to her for permission before he lifted her arm. He took her hand in his own, wrapping his long fingers around and pressing his palm against her knuckles. She felt the tingle of his magic course through her arm immediately, the anchor thrumming to life at the simple touch. She half turned her head to face him, his dark eyes close to her face as his chin hovered over her shoulder.

“Are you ready?” he murmured.

“As ready as I ever am.” She told him, and his lips quirked in the smallest hint of a smile. She could sense his enjoyment as he focused his will, drawing his power forward as the air started to tingle around her. She felt the magic churning in him momentarily before all at once it seemed to be in her, swallowing her in an overwhelming rush of energy. She gasped, closing her eyes against the onslaught, feeling the beat of his heart intensely as it pulsed with his mana. She recognized it, the familiar twinge that she remembered from other times he had assisted her in this way, but somehow it was different. It was the same, but so much _more_ , like what had been a lake was now a quaking sea, rough as the tides pulled her in every direction at once. The world was swimming and she found herself unable to focus, drowning in the power that rumbled through them both. The mark sparked and sizzled, but for once she didn’t feel the pain, only the feedback, like lightning dancing through her blood, stars exploding in the sky, the sun being eclipsed by the silver moon. She opened her eyes and tried to focus but the world was spinning out of control, colors blurring and edges bleeding so that she thought she might collapse. Her knees wanted to buckle, but she felt Solas holding her up, his arms wrapping around her so that she could not fall over the edge of this expanding abyss.

“Stay strong.” He told her, his voice a whisper in her ear and a roar at the edge of her mind. She couldn’t speak, but she nodded, focusing on what they had to do rather than what she felt. She extended her fingers, opening her hand as wide as she could, and allowed the spell to claim her, allowed the wave of crystal mana to pass into her and through her.

A great bolt of lightning, green like fresh spring buds, shot out of her, slamming into Anders and sending him stumbling backwards a step or two. She felt it connect with him, felt his essence and his life hovering just behind the energy. Then she felt _him_ , the demon that was once a spirit, and his anger was a wave of fire that turned everything to heat and flame. She wanted to shy away, to run from that dark emotion and keep herself far from it, but Solas tightened his grip on her hand, a silent reminder of what they were doing, and so instead of running she sought it out. She chased that hardened ball of shadow and hate, and wrapped their magic around it, sealing it tight in chains that would keep it from digging its claws into Anders any further. She grit her teeth as she felt him struggle, Justice fighting every step of the way, resisting change like a fearful child. When she had a good hold on him she _pulled_ on the chains of her making, tearing him from his moorings and drawing him into herself.

The world went black. Not the black of unconsciousness, not the black of sightlessness, but the black of seething rage, of loathing so deep seated and vicious that it tore at her heart, dragging nails across her soul just so see if he could make her bleed. Somewhere inside her head someone was screaming, a wailing that was horrible and endless, each second taking another chunk of her sanity and feeding it to the demon. Justice was fury, white hot and unstoppable, and her blood boiled as he moved around within her, burning down the walls she kept up for herself.

But he wasn’t alone, and neither was she. Solas was there, supporting her as they both struggled against the blind fury of the demon within. She grit her teeth, and with all her might she _pushed_ , flinging the spirit back out towards the endless well of energy she somehow knew was the fade. It was like tossing him over the edge of a cliff, and while his fingers scrabbled for purchase on the flat, featureless planes, his struggle did him no good, and he went toppling into the shadows, far away from the people he had tormented for so long.

She felt it when Solas stopped casting, and instantly she returned to her senses, feeling vacant and exhausted, drained of every last drop of energy that had carried her forward until now. Her knees finally buckled and she fell, but Solas was there to catch her and hold her up as the noises of the world started filtering back into her ringing ears. Cullen was there, in front of her, his arms replacing Solas’ as he drew her to him. She saw his lips move, but it took her a moment to realize he was speaking, and she numbly registered he was asking if she was okay. She nodded as she looked around the room, dazed as she searched for some sign of their success.

Anders had collapsed on the ground, his head cradled in his hands, fingers tugging at his hair as he stared at the floor. Autumn struggled upright, pushing Cullen’s insistent arms out of the way so she could see, so she could look at the man she had done so much to save. Her hearing returned and she became aware of his sobs, great heaving breaths taken in over shaking lips, his tears creating dark splotches on the stonework at his knees. Lilly rushed forward, sliding on her shins towards him, her arms around him in an instant as she tried to lift his head, to look into his eyes.

“Did it work?” Melody asked, her hand on the base of her throat as she swallowed.

“Empty.” Cole said, his face splitting into a wide grin. “It hurts to be so empty but it feels so good. All the anger is out.”

Lilly’s sobs were loud as she cradled her love, holding him to her as they both cried on the floor.

“Free! I’m finally free!” he gasped before burying his head in Lilly’s hair, holding her like he had never before touched her, like he was a starving man being given food for the first time. Autumn felt her heart swell, soaring up into the sky with delirious joy. _They had done it.  They had succeeded._

She tried to stand, to jump for joy, but the minute she tried to use her legs she went limp again, her muscles simply refusing to function as gravity pulled her downward with dizzying speed. Cullen’s grip on her became frantic as he looked up towards Solas.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She said, but it came out mumbled and weak, and she blinked in confusion at her own withering energy.

Solas placed the back of his hand on her forehead, looking concerned, but after a second he smiled, shaking his head. “It is nothing more than fatigue, so far as I can tell. She is not possessed, nor does she seem to be harmed.”

“Thank the Maker.” Cullen pressed a kiss to her temple, drawing her in closer. She tried to say something about all of them worrying far too much, but all that came out was a massive yawn, her lips stretching wide as her eyelids felt as heavy as lead. Cullen smirked down at her, chuckling. “I suppose we should get you back to bed then.”

“I think we should all give them some time alone.” Melody added quietly, motioning for everyone to leave, the couple in question still holding each other in broken relief. They agreed, and Cullen lifted her into his arms as they made their exit, leaving Anders and Lilly to celebrate in peace.

Autumn drifted off into a restful sleep, thinking that it was a good day for new beginnings, and that she was glad that she had been there to see it.


	43. As Long as no one Gives her any Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which itty bitty Bryce gets an itty bitty chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really short because it didn't belong at the end of the last one and it CERTAINLY doesn't belong with the next one, so have a bite sized portion of Bryce! :)

Denerim was a dark city. He had been able to visit a few cities in Orlais, one time even traveling to Val Royeaux on Inquisition business, and everything in the empire was brightly colored and overly clean, like they washed the paint to make sure it gleamed in the sunlight. In the Free Marches things tended to be more normal but dustier, like the whole area was caked in a fine layer of golden lint that never really came from anything or went anywhere. Ferelden, though…Ferelden cities carried this dark pall over everything. Maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was the blight still heavy in everyone’s memories, but even in the middle of the day with the sun shining and the sky baby blue above their heads, Denerim seemed filled with old shadows and older ghosts that would leap out at the unwary and claim them in the name of the cobblestone roads.

Sera, of course, seemed entirely unfazed by the whole ordeal, taking in the sights and sounds like they were an everyday event for her. Perhaps they were. Perhaps her memories were strong enough that part of her still considered this place home, but Bryce just felt uncomfortable. Then again, there were few things in life that _did_ faze Sera, and the list of things that made _him_ uncomfortable got longer with every day he traveled with the unpredictable elf.

The inn stood tall at the corner of the market, the building itself slightly dilapidated and sagging, like some great beast had taken a moment to sit on it before moving on to brighter places. The windows held layers of dust and oil so thick it looked like a kitchen fire had taken up permanent residence within, but the smells wafting through the door weren’t completely unpleasant, and his stomach did a small dance in anticipation of possibly getting something to eat.

Sera strolled into the bar portion of the establishment like she owned the place, sticking her hands on her hips as she gazed around the room. After a quick word with the bartender they were pointed to a small table in the back, two hunched figures seated and conversing in hushed tones, one of them in a hooded robe with a giant owl perched on her shoulder, the other one keeping his hands occupied with a wicked dagger that didn’t look like it needed the sharpening it was being given. Unperturbed by the apparent private nature of their meeting, Sera marched up to them, Bryce in tow, and stood at the end of their table, grinning from ear to pointed ear.

“Hello there…oh.” Her smile turned to a scowl so fast it made Bryce’s head spin. “Shit. Elves. Great.” She looked to Bryce, leaning over to him and speaking, loudly, out of the corner of her mouth. “Maybe they aren’t too elfy.”

“And just how much ‘elfy’ is ‘too elfy’?” the woman jeered, and Bryce felt like he was swallowed, chewed up, and spit out by the power of her gaze alone. Her eyes were penetrating, endless, a fathomless pool of mystery that held secrets that would make the world crumble to dust if she willed it. Her dark skin was etched with elven runes, tattoos in honor of some god Bryce wouldn’t know the first thing about, and when she sneered at them her whole face seemed to be a moving painting, a tapestry of lines and swirls that spoke volumes of what each expression could do. He swallowed, trying to remind himself to breathe, and couldn’t help but exhale in relief when those eyes moved over him to rest on Sera.

Sera looked the Dalish woman up and down, and upon seeing the tawny owl perched on her shoulder rolled her eyes and hooked a thumb in her direction. “ _This_ much is too much.”

The man in the booth quirked a brow at Sera, smirking. “Well, aren’t you charming.”

“Charming right up your – ”

“Um, we were told this might be where we could find Zevran.” Bryce interjected, cutting off the insult before the archer’s mouth had enough time to run away from them again. They had already run into enough trouble on the road because Sera’s tongue had no sense of propriety, or timing, and he wasn’t about to have the trend continue with people who they were supposed to be helping.

The tan elf fingered the blade of his dagger as he looked at them. “And who, might I ask, provided you with such interesting directions?” his tone was playful, but Bryce was not blind to the danger lurking just beneath the words.

Sera, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to it. Or if she wasn’t oblivious, she certainly didn’t care, and she rolled her eyes, canting her hips to the side and crossing her arms over her chest. “Right, we’re from the Inquisition.” She leaned forward, dipping her voice into an inky whisper. “King Sarcasm and Queen Puts-up-with-too-much send their regards. Oh, and something stabbity or something”

The woman gestured in their direction, her face the very definition of incredulous. “This is the aid they send? My, my, Zev. Why ever were we worried?”

Sera jabbed her finger towards her. “Listen, you leaf eating git, I – ”

“ _We_ would really love a drink. Mind if we sit?” Bryce asked, his voice a pitch higher than he meant it to be.

The man, whom Bryce decided he could safely assume was Zevran, flashed an easy smile. “But of course.” He gestured towards the empty seats, and Bryce and Sera shuffled into their places as Zevran flagged down the bartender to bring them extra drinks.

“I’m Bryce Friedman, and this is Lady Sera.” He said.

“A pleasure. My name is Zevran, and my very…friendly associate is Lessa.”

Lessa tossed them a scathing glance. “Delighted.” She certainly sounded anything but.

The drinks were delivered, the tall glasses so full of chips the amber ale within seemed to be peering out of prisms. Sera lifted one to her lips and downed it in one long, excessive gulp, finishing with a sigh and a massive grin on her face, foam gracing her upper lip like a party decoration.

“Tastes like old times!” she declared, slapping the empty tankard back on the table.

“Your life must have been _full_ of dog piss then.” Lessa scoffed.

Sera opened her mouth to retort, but Zevran got there first, which made Bryce eternally grateful. “So, have you been informed of the situation?”

Sera swiped the remainder of the ale away with her sleeve. “You have some pissed off people, yeah?”

“No, we were throwing a parade and wanted help decorating the markets.” Lessa spat.

Bryce cleared his throat loudly, ignoring the pair of them and addressing Zevran. “We were told there was some difficulty with the people, and since Lady Sera is from around here we thought we might be able to provide assistance.”

Zevran eyed her skeptically. “Truly? From Denerim?”

“Yeah.” She said. “And yes, I saw the blight, all very scary, hooray for the queen, blah blah blah.”

Lessa snorted. “I don’t see how a local can help our situation. We’re up to our ears in locals already, and none of them have proved to be of any use so far.”

Sera glared at her in turn. “Not just a ‘local’. I know the Red Jenny.”

“Well, that’s wonderful.” Lessa’s face lit up in a cheerful grin. “I met a Green Larry once, will that also help?”

“Must you?” Zevran asked her, his smile slightly pained.

Lessa shrugged. “What?”

“Must you be so…antagonistic?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed, but opted not to offer any further reply.

Zevran gazed at her for another moment before turning back to Bryce and Sera. “In any case, whatever connections you have should come in handy. The unrest can be attributed to one particularly problematic warden, and if we can flush him out of hiding and take him out of the picture things should go much smoother from then on, yes?”

“Maybe we can reason with him.” Bryce said. “What’s the warden’s name?”

Zevran and Lessa exchanged a loaded glance with one another. “I’m afraid we never actually got that far in our introductions, but let’s just say he is rather unreasonable about the entire situation thus far.”

“He’s been as unpleasant as he is hideous. If the people didn’t seem so enamored with him we would have done away with him ages ago.” Lessa added.

“Why are the people protecting him then?” Sera asked, wrapping her fingers around the handle to Bryce’s mug and sliding it over to herself.

“He has them convinced there is another blight on the way, and that the King and Queen have abandoned them all.” Zevran explained.

Sera rolled her eyes, sipping at the stolen ale. “Shite, how daft can they get?”

“I’m sure you and your rainbow brigade will be able to sway their opinions.” Lessa quipped.

Sera set the mug down, turning to face the other elf with a dour expression. “Right, it’s Red Jenny, just the one color, and just because you don’t know friends from bears doesn’t mean all elves are the same.”

“Just because you’re too stupid to appreciate your heritage doesn’t make me some kind of savage.” Lessa shot back.

“Says the creepy twat toting around a fucking _bird_ in a _bar_.”

“You know, insults just don’t mean much coming from a woman that actually _enjoys_ Ferelden ale.”

Bryce slapped the tabletop with his palm, feeling the sting of the impact even through his gloves and startling the girls out of their bickering. “Enough! Both of you, knock it off. We’re here to work together, we’re on the same side. Sera, she’s Dalish, not a demon, let her be. And Lessa, just because Sera is an elf doesn’t mean she has to be Dalish to be worth respect, so cool it on the sarcasm.”

Lessa smirked and leaned over to Zevran. “Ooh, I like the small shem. He’s feisty.”

Zevran’s eyes turned up toward the ceiling as he sighed. “Maker help us.”

Sera stood, brushing the dust from the seat off her bottom. “Right, well, this has been grand, but I think I’d like to get to work now so I can get back home before Quizzbird gets back.”

“What are we going to do?” Bryce asked, half rising out of his own seat.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and drove him back down. “ _You_ are going to sit tight and stay out of trouble. _I'm_  going to go find out what I can on the streets.” She turned to Zevran. “Watch him, yeah? He’s Quizzbird’s favorite, she’ll shank me if I head back without him.”

“I think we can manage. We’ll be waiting for your word, my lady.” Zevran winked at her.

Sera gave him a theatrical shudder. “Ugh, keep your winks to yourself, tan boy.”

And with that she sprinted out of the inn, practically disappearing into the crowded streets outside, melting into the citizens of Denerim as though she had never lived anywhere else.

Lessa stared at the now empty doorway, a look of disgust on her delicate features. “Is it wise to let her wander off on her own?”

Bryce grinned. “She’s a lot more capable than she looks, I promise. As long as no one gives her any bees, that is.”

Zevran gave him a startled expression, but didn’t say anything, and Lessa shrugged and pulled out a book seemingly from nowhere, her face disappearing behind the dusty pages. Bryce pulled his ale back in front of him and took a tentative sip, wondering how long it would take for her to report back, and what in the world he would do until she did.


	44. You are the Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which "Can you Feel the Love Tonight" plays aggressively in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE, HAVE THE LONGEST SMUT CHAPTER EVER. *throws the words at the screen*

The sun was blazing through the windows, turning his vision warm and red beneath his lids before he finally opened his eyes. He could see the blue sky outside, innocent tufts of clouds drifting by on their lazy journey to nowhere, birds soaring with tiny clips of songs spilling from their chests. For the first time he watched them and didn’t feel envy, didn’t feel that drag of jealousy over their endless freedom and simple optimism.

It was strange to have so much silence in his own head. There was no extra person stirring in his mind, no presence demanding things that conflicted with his own desires. Anders was finally alone, at least internally, and the sensation was still somewhat strange to him. At first that gaping emptiness had hurt. It had felt like someone had ripped a piece of him out, something that had been stitched into his skin, so that once it was gone there was a quivering wound that would bleed until he was washed away with the crimson wave of tragic misery. He had gone to bed in Lilly’s arms that night, silently weeping at the indescribable loneliness he felt, clinging to her and wishing he didn’t feel like half a man.

The second day was easier. They had slept through most of the daylight hours, and when they woke it was only long enough to have the Inquisition soldiers bring them food. They had eaten, giving each other quiet smiles and leaning against one another for silent support, and he had been amazed at how good it felt to look at her and feel only the boundless love he held for her. There was no little voice demanding guilt, no shadow laced with resentment churning at the back of his mind. He saw her, and only her, and she was brighter than anything he had ever known, more wonderful, more perfect than he had ever been able to imagine. After eating they had drifted off to sleep again, both of them too worn and exhausted to do much more than enjoy the other’s presence and sleep off the decade of torture they had been through.

Today, as the room lit up with the golden glow of the approaching afternoon, Anders could revel in the muted tones of his own thoughts. He didn’t feel drawn any longer, didn’t feel weak, didn’t feel frayed. He felt whole, healthy, and for the first time that he could remember, he felt _refreshed_.

With that realization his body seemed to wake up, and all at once he became aware of the slight woman tucked against him, her breathing heavy as she slumbered peacefully atop his arm. He turned his head so he could see her better, marveling at the way her auburn hair swirled along her shoulders. Her lips hung slightly open, her breath passing through them in even beats, and her long lashes just touched the tops of her cheeks as her eyes twitched in sleep, hopefully her dreams less violent than they had been of late. The sleeve of her shirt had slipped, exposing one pale shoulder to the midday air, and he counted the smattering of freckles there, his hand twitching as the urge to touch her became overwhelming.

He shifted slowly, rolling over so he could wrap his other arm around her, nestling his chin into the crook of her neck. She mumbled something unintelligible and smiled, but did not wake. He let his hand wander, sliding across the flat plane of her stomach, lifting up the bottom of her shirt so he could feel her skin against his fingertips. It was amazing just to touch her. Every brush against her, every inch of her flesh, felt new and amazing now that he was experiencing it all to himself. He could feel everything, from the soft swell just below her belly button to the slightly raised bumps of the scars carved across her hips. He had memories of when she had earned over half of them, but they felt like artifacts of a time long ago, so lost to him that they weren’t even old anymore, made new by fresh discovery. And that was what it was, these past few days. He was rediscovering her, as he had never been allowed to before, experiencing this love with eyes finally opened. He had never doubted that what he had with her was different, that what he had with her was special, but never before had he been able to grasp the depth, the truly astounding connection that he shared with her.

Slowly, at a pace that made his muscles shudder with the restraint that it took to move with that much measure, he slid his hand further down, dipping just below the waistband of her shorts. The fabric was loose, silky, and it was easy enough to shift it out of the way to let his hand wander. He continued his languid path until he felt the downy hair between her legs, and he closed his eyes for a moment to savor the feeling of being so close to her, so near to her. He parted her folds, slipping his finger into the velvet softness between them, and he traced easy circles around the bundle of nerves and desire that lay within.

A low moan crawled its way out of her throat before her head turned, emerald eyes peeking out between ebony lashes. Her gaze was full of heat that cut straight into him, sending a jolt of want racing through his veins. Her lips remained parted as she shifted in his arms, thrusting her hips forward into his hand and forcing his finger just a fraction deeper, which drew a gasp out of her mouth. He pushed in further, sinking all the way into her, and her head rolled back as she drew in a long, trembling breath. He worked his finger back and forth, using his palm to rub against the rest of her mound, and he summoned the smallest amount of magic, sparking against her. She let out a long whine in response, writhing against him and biting her lower lip.

He watched her face, enraptured by the expressions she was making as he touched her, studying the crease in her brow and the way her teeth dragged across the dusky pink of her lips. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but forced himself to hold back. He wanted to claim her, to crash together with her until he could no longer tell where she began he ended, but more than that he wanted to see her come undone, to truly watch what it looked like to pleasure the woman he loved. His heartrate stuttered in his chest as he watched her, and he increased his pace as he added a second finger, her arousal coating his hand. The smell of her ardor was intoxicating, her presence filling all his senses until he felt like he might go mad, but only in the best way, the greatest madness he had ever known, the only one he ever wanted to know again. He could feel her muscles tensing as she neared the edge, and he added another swell of magic to his ministrations with a little extra pressure. She cried out, arching her back and riding his fingers, swaying into him as the tight bowstring within her finally snapped, and she unraveled, spinning into bliss like an arrow launched to the stars, bliss that shook her whole body and lit up her face. She was glowing, radiant, a fire blazing bright in the darkest night, and he devoured her with his eyes, hungrily memorizing every inch of what it looked like to bring her to the brink and carry her over the edge.

When he could see her coming down from the clouds again he shifted so he could settle himself on top of her, pressing her into the mattress as he gazed into her brilliant eyes. He let his hands move from her hips to her waist, up along the sides of her ribs before he took her breasts in his palms, feeling her nipples pressed through the thin fabric of the shirt. Finally, after an eternity of anticipation, he let his head fall to her lips, and Anders kissed her for all he was worth.

It felt like the first time. It felt like the first time he had ever kissed anyone, like his lips had never parted before, had never tasted the sweet nectar of love or even dreamt of the possibility. He was lost to it, helpless against the infinite draw of such a perfect expression of his love, drowning in the way her tongue slid against his, sending shivers down his spine and a hurricane through his lungs. He ground his hips against hers, pressing his arousal as close to hers as he could through the thin fabric between them, and she gasped into his mouth. Her breaths turned into moans as she arched up to meet him, matching his pace and his vigor. He sent another wave of magic coursing through her, toying with her nipples until she was mewling in half spoken pleas, begging him for more of what he was only too happy to give.

She dipped her hands under the hem of his shirt, sliding delicate palms up his back, her nails leaving shallow scratches behind that made starbursts alight along his spine. He bit her lip, his teeth dragging across the succulent flesh as he growled at her, and in response she all but ripped off his shirt, tearing the fabric over his head and tossing it onto the floor. Her fingers were suddenly everywhere as he was grinding into her; she sought to touch all of him, wanting to feel every piece of him, seeking him out like she needed him, like he was all that she had to hold on to, like without him she would be lost.

With a strangled sound of lust and greed he sat up, pulling off his pants in a rush while she raced to do the same, their clothes flying in every direction in their haste to lose the last of the barriers between them. When he finally pressed against her, skin on skin, warmth on warmth, heartbeat on heartbeat, he felt as though he were losing his mind. It was everything, it was fire and ice and steam, it was light and dark and grey clouds full of lightning, it was night and day and the winking intensity of the stars. He thrust into her, completing himself, completing her, driving away the loneliness with one swift moment that saved them both. Their love was frenzied, it was endless and fractured, it was the cement that held them together and the raging fire that burned them down, and it was all he ever wanted. He never wanted anything but her, to be with her, to love her, to spend every last second of the rest of his life showering her with everything she deserved. And he needed to start now, he needed to show her now, with all that he had, just how much he cared for her, just what she did to his heart, his soul, his body. He was so utterly hers in this moment that it was a wonder he didn’t dissolve, destroyed by the perfection of being allowed to belong to someone.

He grabbed her legs, hitching them up higher around his hips so he could drive into her faster. He could feel everything, ever gasp, every muscle, every drop of sweat that rolled down his back. He had forgotten, in all those long, miserable years, what it was like to actually _feel_ things, to feel _all_  of it, unfettered by the person sharing his body, released from the shackles of madness and justice. He set a furious pace, and she was screaming his name, her hands clinging to him as he experienced them completely, reveling in every second like it might be his last. He reached out to her, using one hand to send more magic pulsing into her core and toppling her over the edge, his name echoing in his ears.

When she came, clamping down around him, he exploded, losing himself in a tangle of love and lust, of years of yearning being satisfied on a level he hadn’t even known he’d been missing. He filled her, wholly, and she accepted him without hesitation, like she had been waiting just as long, like she knew what it meant to him to be here with her, like she had been dying until this moment, and now they were both finally alive.

This was not the first time Anders had been in love, but it was the first time that he had loved fearlessly. There was nothing between them in this moment. Not Templars, not wardens, not spirits, and not peril. He was hers, and she was his, and they were finally together, alone, for the first time. They had crossed all of Thedas seeking this right, neither of them asking for more than to be allowed to be with one another, to belong to one another, to love one another the way they were always meant to. He had her, he had his magic, he had his life, and now together they had their freedom.

He crashed into her, kissing her wherever he could reach, their hips coming to a halt as their lips picked up the passion.

“I love you.” He murmured, half a shout and half a sob. “I love you so much. I love you I love you I love you.”

Lilly laughed, breathless and shaky but happier than he had ever heard her before. “I love you too, Anders. _Always_.”

He collapsed onto the bed and settled in next to her, his arm under her head and the fingers of his other hand trailing up and down her stomach. When she laughed the skin bounced against him, rippling along all the muscles that had been honed through years of pain, years of fighting, years of things this gorgeous soul in front of him had never deserved. He looked into her eyes and knew that if he was meant for nothing else in this world, he was meant for loving her.

“You are so beautiful.” He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, grazing his thumb against the trail of freckles.

Lilly rolled her eyes at him, a blush spreading from the base of her neck to the top of her head. “Right, because recovering from starvation and sleep deprivation is a very sexy look.”

He laughed, and it was wonderful to be able to do so without anyone judging him for his sense of humor. “Well, that seems to be how I won you over.”

Lilly tilted her head, pretending to consider the notion. “No, it was definitely the whole tortured thing.”

He placed a kiss against her neck, inhaling her sweat sweetened scent. “Does that mean now that I’m significantly less tortured I’m going to lose my appeal?”

“Hm, I don’t think so. You do have several other redeeming qualities worth keeping you around for.” She smirked, her eyes full of light and life.

“What a relief. I would hate to have to find a new half starved, angsty rogue.” He nipped at her earlobe, biting just hard enough to elicit a yelp.

She sat up, smacking him across the chest. “I’m not angsty! _You're_ the angsty one! I’m cheerful! Chipper, even.”

“I can tell by the scowl on your face!” he retorted.

She pounced on him, using lightning reflexes that caught him off guard, and before he knew it she was straddling him and running her fingers along his sides, light enough to feel like the brush of paper thin wings against overstimulated skin. He tried valiantly to resist, but within moments he was giggling like a small child, squirming beneath her as he tried to avoid the relentless assault.

“See! I make you laugh so easily!”

Anders could hardly breathe as his laughter took on a hysterical pitch, his heart so light it was bouncing against the ceiling. “Maker, no, no, stop, I yield! I yield!” She stopped and leaned down, kissing him in a way that made him forget there was ever anything beyond the feel of her lips on his, and he pulled her close, enjoying everything about the moment, enjoying everything about everything.

When she pulled back her hair formed a tunnel between them, bathing them in a warm red glow as the sunlight filtered through her crimson waves.

“Lilly, you have done more for me than I ever deserved.” He brushed the hair away, cupping her cheeks, holding her like the precious treasure she was. “I love you, more than anything else in this world, more than I could ever love anything else. I hope you’ll let me spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

Her smile was radiant, soft and bright and all he ever wanted. “There’s nothing I would like more.”

“When all this Inquisition business is over, do you think you might…” his voice faltered as he tried to find the words, what he wanted to say suddenly slipping out of his grasp like so much sunlight slipping through raindrops as they tumbled from the sky. “I mean, that is, would you want to…um, if it would make you happy, we could…”

“Anders?”

“Hm?” the tone of her voice startled him out of his rambling, and he gazed at her, afraid and excited and completely lost to the insatiable pull of her essence.

“I would love to marry you.”

Anders kissed her, loving her for knowing what he meant, loving her for wanting the same thing, loving every last part of her and all that she stood for. He kissed her and reflected on all they had been through, kissed her like he should have been able to from the first minute she walked into his life, and he could never imagine being happier than he was in this moment.

  
Lilly and Anders were finally free, and nothing could feel better than knowing that.

 

***

 

She rubbed at her eyes, trying to will them to focus on the words across the page before her, wishing there weren’t so many reports to sift through. Seventeen new applications for the Seekers, eight reports about lyrium allocation, thirteen separate requests for personal training sessions, and one very long letter from an anonymous man, who she strongly suspected might be Cole, that wanted to know what the training dummies had done to make her so angry.

She tossed the page she had been perusing back onto the desk, sighing as she attempted to stretch out her tired muscles. Her back ached at the base of her spine from hunching too long over the desk, and her shoulder had a faint throb in muscles that still held the memory of the recent dislocation. Looking out the window she could see the sun finally missing from the sky, the great lavender blanket of dusk spreading over the peaks of the mountains to tuck the keep in for the evening. Soon enough she would need to light candles if she wanted to get anything else done, and just the thought of trying to read under the flickering glow seemed to intensify her headache. Perhaps it was finally time to call it a night, give her work a rest for the time being. It had been a very, very long couple of weeks, and she could certainly do with a night to catch up on sleep.

The knock on the door jarred her out of her ruminations, and she sighed, picking up the report to gaze at it again as she half turned to the sound.

“Enter.” She called, picking up her quill to notate where she had left off, wondering in the back of her mind if the applicant in question could handle Seeker training while still in the middle of weaning himself off lyrium.

The door opened and she glanced over, doing a double take when she realized that it was Varric, her heart performing a strange somersault in her chest as a smile stretched across her face. She was never quite expecting to see him, and was always surprised at how happy it made her each time. She had never noticed just how often he walked past the yard where she trained, or how many times their paths seemed to cross as they went about their day to day duties. It was astonishing to her now, however, because each time they would stop and share a smile, a quick kiss as they both blushed under the gaze of the soldiers around them who were pretending not to stare. She reveled in the warm hand grasping hers under the table at mealtimes, at the sweet little notes she sometimes found pinned to her favorite practice sword when she ran later than usual. Her life here was still busy, still fraught with stress as she juggled rekindling an order that had been run into the ground by secrets in corruption, but despite her workload remaining the same her days _did_ seem lighter, and it was all because of the grinning rogue before her.

He was holding a small basket as he shuffled in, kicking the door shut behind him, and the smile on his face made her feel ridiculously elated. She couldn’t help the blush that crept across her cheeks, even though he couldn’t possibly know how silly she felt, how girlish he made her feel. Or how much she absolutely loved it. He strode forward and set the basket at the edge of her desk before clasping his hands together, holding them in front of his chest as though he were ready to beg her for something. She noticed the nervous energy flowing off of him, the quick darting movements to his eyes as he first looked at her, then looked away. He drew in a breath, and she thought he might speak, but after half a heartbeat all that came out was a gusty sigh.

“Is everything alright?” she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from scowling, doing her best not to jump to the worst possible conclusion. _Perhaps he had grown tired of her.  Perhaps coming home had brought him to his senses.  Perhaps that vicious little beast Bianca had convinced him to go back to her._ She blinked rapidly, swallowing back the tears as she forced her mind to stop its endless tirade of doubt and uncertainty. She was a grown woman, and would not quake and tremble like a little child at the first sign of the unknown. Maker, Cassandra had faced down dragons and had less fear in her heart than she did in this moment.

His laugh dispelled her unease almost immediately, warm and rich and all for her. “Yes. No. I mean, yes, everything’s fine, I’m just…” he sighed, exasperated with himself. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

She wanted to ask him what sort of thing he meant, but she held her tongue for the moment, quirking an eyebrow at him and meeting his gaze. He smiled again, one half of his mouth tilting up higher than the other as he stared back at her, a bemused expression swimming in his lovely warm eyes.

After a few seconds her patience started to wear thin, and she could wait no more. “Varric?” she prompted.

He shook his head, rubbing at the back of his neck in a gesture he no doubt picked up from Cullen. “Right, sorry. I have something for you.” He held up his finger to ask her to wait as he lifted up the top of the basket, pulling back the small cloth underneath to reveal a variety of items she couldn’t quite see crammed inside. The unmistakable scent of fresh strawberries filled the room, and she inhaled deeply, unsure of the last time she had smelled something quite so appetizing.

He pulled out two long stemmed crystal glasses and set them on the table, and followed them with a bottle of white wine, which he uncorked easily and poured into the goblets. The soft yellow liquid swirled in lazy circles, tiny bubbles fizzing to the top as it reacted to the air, like little stars twirling in sunlight. He set the bottle down and handed her a glass without picking up his own. She took it, smiling at him, somewhat astonished at the unexpected romantic gesture.

“Thank you, Varric, but you didn’t have to go to such trouble –”

He held up his hand. “Wait a minute, I’m not done yet.” He reached back into the basket and pulled out an envelope, the paper dyed gold and decorated in a gilded script with elegant designs around the edges. He opened it and pulled out an expensive looking piece of paper, unfolding it carefully with a slight tremor in his hands. He glanced at her, his nerves apparent in the unsteady gaze, before looking down at the paper, clearing his throat. When he began to speak, his voice was clear, albeit a little shaken, but as the words poured out of him like the wine into the glasses, he gained confidence, he gained rhythm, and he recited what was on the page with a beautiful grace that pulled at her heart.

“You are the rose that blooms at midnight,  
Whose thorns cut across the stars,  
A flower of danger and beauty,  
Of love and death and scars.

You carry your heart cased in iron,  
Your soul barred away behind steel,  
But when I look at you, I’ve never doubted,  
That I could see the you that was real.

You are the rose that blooms in the desert,  
Whose petals color the barren waste,  
You were everything to me before I knew it,  
When my distrust was so misplaced.

You carried me out of my broken home,  
Helped me rise from the ashes of pain,  
And delivered me to a new life worth living,  
So that I never pined for days gone again.

You are the rose that blooms when I look at you,  
Whose grace marks the heavens above,  
You should know, Cassandra Pentaghast,  
You are the only woman that I want to love.”

As the sonorous sound of his voice faded into the dim room he was blushing fervently, avoiding her gaze as he carefully folded the paper and replaced it in the envelope, setting it on her desk with deliberate care despite the shaking in his hands. Her mouth was hanging open, the wine glass threatening to fall from her nerveless hands as she gaped at him, unable to form any coherent thoughts around the explosions of joy that were overwhelming her mind. He met her gaze again and it was all she could do not to fall over, not to dissolve into a sigh and become one with the wind.

“I thought for a long time about how I wanted to tell you,” he said, his voice lower and laced with hesitation, “and I know that these cheesy gestures don’t even begin to approach what you deserve, but I just wanted to make it perfectly clear.” He took a deep breath, and she felt her heart beat wildly against her ribs in the brief second while he paused. “I’m in love with you. I think I have been for a really long time, but I was too stubborn or stupid or Maker damned oblivious to realize it. But now that I know, I felt like I needed to tell you. I’m really sorry if this is too much too fast, but I thought that you should know.” He kicked a foot into the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. “So, uh, yeah. I’m in love with you.”

She set her wine glass down on the desk, carefully measuring out her movements so that she wouldn’t move too fast, wouldn’t spoil the moment with any nervous fumbling. When it was out of her grasp she reached out, taking his face in her hands and pulling him forward, leaning down until her lips crashed against his, kissing him with all the passion she could muster, pouring herself into him, letting her lips tell him her response while her brain tried to find the words strong enough to match it. She could taste the traces of brandy still on his tongue, the liquid courage he likely had before coming here, and somehow knowing he had been nervous to tell her, that this man who had laughed in the face of a horde of Venatori, who had stood inches from dragon breath and still gone back into the fight, this man who had been scared of almost nothing that she had seen in all the time they had known each other, this man was terrified that she would not return his feelings.

When she pulled back the dazed grin on his face made her love him all the more, and then she knew the only words that would fit the situation, the only words that existed that could possibly explain how she felt for him.

“I’m in love with you, too.” She whispered.

He kissed her again, his hands coming up to wrap around the back of her neck, and a long, slow burn danced across her skin, starting from her lips and extending all the way to her toes. It started with a small spark, almost gentle, so small she could have missed it, and before she knew it the fire was rolling through her, consuming her, becoming her. Just like their love had been, just like their whole romance had been, a steady slow burn, a seed that had grown in the barren ash of the hearts of two people convinced they could never love again, taking root and flourishing into a beautiful bloom that filled the world with color and beauty, just like the rose in his poem. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve such a beautiful sentiment, didn’t know what she had done to earn such a powerful love from such a wonderful man, but she was glad that she had it, and she would cherish it like the treasure it was.

Eventually he pulled away again, and now his nerves were gone, replaced with a smirk that was as attractive as it was smug, although she couldn’t bring herself to be irritated at the moment.

“I was hoping you might feel that way.” He moved over to the desk again and shifted some things around in the basket before finding what he wanted, pulling out the long silken cloth and holding it up for her to see. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Yes.” She said, without a hint of hesitation. In truth it had been some time since she had actually distrusted Varric, although before she might not have admitted that out loud to anyone. He had been at her back in battle enough times for her to know exactly where his loyalties lay, saved by bolts into the necks of enemies she hadn’t seen enough times to know he would protect her no matter how they felt for one another. Even when she thought they had hated each other, she had known deep down that Varric would never hurt her. Now, in this strange new world where she loved him, and he loved her, the trust she placed in him was only all the more realistic. Now she knew they wouldn’t just protect each other from harm, wouldn’t just fight to keep the other out of peril, but they would shield each other’s hearts, their love a barrier against the cruelty of the world. Yes, she very much trusted him, and she would never hesitate to let him know it again.

His smile was a sunrise, lighting up the room with just a small quirk of his lips. He leaned forward, wrapping the silk around her eyes, and she was surrounded with soft darkness, bathed in a soothing shadow that held no fear for her, no trepidation even as she leaped into the unknown. He took her hands and guided her out of the chair, leading her to the bed, and she shuddered with excitement at the prospects unfurling in her mind, images all the more vivid by the deprivation of her sight. He helped her onto the mattress and cupped he face with strong, sure hands, and she felt a sense of warmth, a sense of safety, more protected when he held her like that than she ever was before.

She trembled beneath his palms, and she could feel his chuckle rumble through the room. “Relax. We don’t have to go any farther than you want to.” He murmured. She nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak, words far away from her lips as her mind wandered corridors of thought which were normally forbidden.

He stepped away for a moment and she missed his presence, and when he came back she could smell the strawberries again, the sweet aroma stronger somehow now that she couldn’t see them.

“Open your mouth.” He ordered, a gentle command. She complied, parting her lips and leaving them open as a shivering breath passed through them. A moment later she felt the cool, plump surface of a strawberry touch her lower lip, and he dragged it along the skin there in a languid path. She could taste the wine dripping off the surface, the flavor tingling against her mouth so that she desperately wanted to take a bite, to sink her teeth into the tart-sweet flesh and devour it all. He moved away before she could act on the impulse, and she licked her lips, the wine overpowering the faint taste of the berry.

Then his lips were on hers, and she felt dizzy as he used the kiss to pry her mouth open. He tasted like the wine, like strawberries and perfection, like infinite potential and bliss. When he pulled away again she almost whined, her face leaning forward to follow the retreating kiss as she clenched her hands into fists, longing to grab him and pull him back where she wanted him. She heard him chuckle softly, and she was surprised at the way the sound was like an amber wave in the darkness, covering her in heat that made her tremble with delight.

“Open your mouth again, please.” He spoke directly beside her ear, and the low rumble of his voice shot down the length of her spine. She obeyed, and was rewarded almost immediately with a sliced portion of fruit, soaked in the heady tang of the wine. She closed her lips around it, sucking on the succulent morsel, the taste more divine than anything she had ever had before, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the flavor itself or the electricity in the atmosphere. Before she had finished enjoying the sensation she felt Varric’s lips press kisses along her neck, working his way from her collarbone upward until he nibbled playfully at the base of her ear. She moaned as she swallowed her bite, canting her head to the side to give him better access, but he was already gone, leaving her quaking and wanting.

The next thing she felt were his fingers on the collar of her shirt, leisurely, delicately tracing the line of the fabric. Her breath hitched when he reached her collarbone, pulling the cloth aside so that he could trail his hand along skin that was previously hidden, making even that small touch feel tantalizing and intoxicating. His other hand rose to hover over the buttons marching down the middle of her chest, and he pulled at one lightly, running his finger over the carved pearl holding her shirt together.

“May I?” he husked, his voice a deep bass that drove her wild in a way she had never quite experienced before.

“Yes.” She breathed, more of a sigh than a word, a plea rather than an answer.

He unbuttoned her shirt at an agonizing pace, letting his fingers brush against her a little bit with each one, her skin prickling with every step further, every inch of her discovered by him revealing a new depth of excitement within her. When he finally reached the bottom, releasing the last round pearl from its moors, he placed both his palms on the flat of her stomach, parting the shirt to expose more of her. She rolled her shoulders, letting the garment slide out of place, slipping down her back to pool near her waist. She could hear him draw in a breath, and for a long moment he didn’t seem to breathe, and her heart seemed to stumble to a halt as she waited, aching for what could come next, her breasts bare to a world she couldn’t see but could clearly feel, charged with an energy that pounded in her veins like the beat of a wild drum, driving her to madness one thrum at a time.

She heard him move but she couldn’t quite make out what he was doing from the sounds, and she almost jumped as something was pressed to the skin at the base of her neck. She felt the strawberry, warm as though he had held it in his mouth, drag from her collarbone down between the planes of her chest. Seconds later he planted a kiss at the start of the trail, tasting her reverently before using his tongue to follow it. He drew on her flesh with the fruit, marking a slow circle around one of her breasts before chasing it with the searing heat of his mouth, taking his time before he reached the end of the journey, catching her nipple between his lips and sucking gently. He repeated the action on the other side as her breaths came in ragged gasps, and she felt as though she might catch on fire. She squeezed her thighs together, the tingling ache between her legs almost too much to bear, delightful, torturous pressure building up inside of her and leaving her nerves hanging on the edge, hovering between lunacy and ecstasy.

His hands trailed down her sides, hovering just over her hips, and he dipped his fingers into the waistband of her pants. “May I?” he asked.

She could only nod this time, unable to speak even if she had wanted to, though words were unnecessary as instinct drove them forward. What she needed was more; more of him, more of this, more of the burning hunger that was swallowing her whole. He took his time, untying the small knot at the front, brushing fingers lightly across her skin as he worked. He placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing back lightly, and she followed the direction as he eased her backwards until she was laying down on her bed. With caring hands he pulled her pants off, peeling them from her as though he were unwrapping the world’s most precious gift, and all the while he made sure his hands never left contact with her body, one part of him or another pressed against her skin. He caressed her thighs, rubbed slow lines across her calves, then slid back up again to rest on her hips. She was naked in front of him, nothing but the blindfold to cover her flesh, but she didn’t feel exposed, she didn’t feel vulnerable. He pulled away for another moment and she felt the weight on the bed shift as he settled next to her. She knew he was there, and it made her brave, braver than she had ever been with a man before, more comfortable with her own skin than she ever knew she could be. She was unafraid to let him see her, and this revelation was freeing, opening up her soul so that she could truly feel things she had never allowed herself to feel before. She felt safe, cherished, loved, everything she could ever want to feel, and even though she couldn’t see him, she knew the expression he would have on his face, knew exactly how he must look as he gazed at her, and she was happy to let him see.

He leaned forward and kissed her, and she loved the way it felt to have his powerful arms surround her, embracing her like she were made for this, like he was made for this, like all the war and the fighting and the horror had only built them up to love each other. She couldn’t help but think it was worth it. If everything they had been through led them to this, she would never be able to take any of it back, because _this_ was worth absolutely anything. She found the courage within herself to bring her hands up, taking hold of his shirt and dragging it over the top of his head with ease, and she felt powerful that he had allowed her to do so. With the fabric gone she let her hands roam over his chest, her fingers passing through the hair that never failed to surprise her with its softness. She continued her exploration as he deepened their kiss, grasping at his back, feeling every muscle, every fiber of him flex and move as they curled together.

His lips left hers to follow a path downward, charting a loving trail that burned with every new inch. When he reached her stomach he moved his hands to brace against her hips, and she could feel his eyes on her face through the blackness of the silk pressed against her sight, watching her for any hint of fear, any flicker of doubt.

“You can stop me whenever you want to.” He said, his breath passing across her skin like lightning.

“Please, don’t stop.” She begged, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

He continued his path of kisses and fire until he was hovering just above her core, breathing into her so that she felt his presence like a physical ache, and she had to stop herself from arching her back, from grinding herself into him as the anticipation, the insatiable need for what she wanted him to do slowly tore her apart. He grabbed her thighs, hitching them up over his shoulders and spreading her before him, and she bit her tongue to keep from whining, holding her breath as she waited through the longest moment of her life, hanging on the edge of a second that never seemed to end.

He nuzzled against her with his nose first, and she felt like she might explode from that small contact alone, every muscle in her body twitching in reaction. Then his tongue was delving into her, parting her and filling her with intensity and bliss, and a moan tore out of her throat, the sound filling her ears as she dissolved around his attention. He slipped a finger into her, working her arduously in rhythm with his mouth, and she felt like everything was moving too slow. Everything was in slow motion around her while she was traveling faster than a falling star, a rolling ball of fire being hurtled toward the ground with no way to hold on, no way to break her fall, no way to stop the aching need consuming her from within. She wanted more, needed more, greedily begged for more with ragged cries that echoed around the room, pleading for release. She felt like she might break if the pressure within her wasn’t expelled, and her hands fisted the sheets, tearing at the fabric as she tried desperately to keep from drowning in the endless waves of sensation that drove her under over and over again. Finally, blessedly, he started moving faster, taking her over the edge in a matter of seconds. She tumbled willingly, letting herself unwind around him as she called his name into the strawberry scented world he had brought her to. Even as she shattered, even as she let herself become a million pieces of devotion and satisfaction, still he kept up his affection, following her up to the highest point and then taking her back down, his pace slowing until it was a gentle caress, until she felt like she might actually dissolve under his endless touch.

He stopped, pulling away from her and crawling back across the bed until his head was next to hers again. She brought her hands up, and after a moment of searching she found his face, cradling him as he planted a kiss on her pulse point, lips lingering on the wild beat of her heart.

“I want to see you.” She whispered. He reached up and pulled off the blindfold, and though the room was dark with the early evening light she could see him clearly through the hazy dusk. She was lost in his eyes, so full of love and desire, his arousal pressing into her stomach as his lips worshiped her with every tender kiss.

She brought his lips to hers, and with one easy movement she used her body to switch their placement, rolling him onto his back as she straddled his waist. She reached down, never releasing the kiss, and undid the laces to his pants, slipping her hand inside to wrap around his length, savoring the thick heat as it pressed against her palm. He hissed in reaction, his eyes snapping shut as his hips bucked into her, all of him twitching with as much need as she had felt a moment ago. She was fascinated by the expression on his face as she started to stroke him, and she found that she loved the way he seemed to unravel as her thumb swirled over the tip, loved the way he bit his lip to hold back a moan, the way he pulled in a breath through his teeth as his eyes tried to stay open to gaze into her own. She shifted and let him go so she could pull off his pants, dragging them halfway off before he quickly did the rest of the work himself, kicking them to the floor in a fevered rush.

She rested one hand against his chest for balance and held him with the other as she descended onto him, impaling herself with a rock of her hips. She let go as he filled her, sinking into place with a strangled cry that faded into a moan. She resisted the urge to toss her head back as she stretched to accommodate him, holding her gaze on his face to see the expression that he made, delighting in the way he lost his composure, seeing every ounce of emotion that swirled within him through his half lidded eyes. She leaned into him and kissed him again, both of their lips shaking as they felt the full magnitude of the moment, as they felt the impact of becoming one, as they felt what it was like to finally, truly be with one another.

“I love you.” She gasped out before she started to move, gyrating herself so that she pulled her body up and down against him.

He grabbed her hips, his lower lip quivering. “I love you.” He answered, the words a rush, a sigh, a moan as they left him.

She kept her pace slow until she felt another wave start to rise within her, her body crying out for more and more, selfish and greedy as she rode him for both their pleasure. Her body begged, his body begged, and so she obliged. She ran her hands through his hair as she moved faster and faster, both of them gasping and clinging to whatever part they could find, every nerve in her body exploding with sensation. He gripped her hips tighter, his own rising up to meet her, and it was the look of ecstasy on his face that undid her for the second time, sending her careening over the edge with his name on her lips, screaming it without shame, without hesitation, without any need for secrecy or propriety. She trembled as she rode out the second orgasm of the evening, her muscles quaking, leaving her ready to crumple in exhaustion and never move again.

He waited until she had stuttered to a halt before he sat up, lifting her with him until she wrapped her legs around him. With a graceful roll he flipped them, pressing her back into the mattress as he grabbed her hips, holding her aloft and entering into her again. Sweat was dripping down the side of his face, one warm drop rolling down his chin to fall onto her leg. She didn’t think it was possible, but as he thrust into her she could feel herself overflowing once more, aching for another release that she never would have thought was within her, and she was lost with the wonder of how amazing, how perfect, how _alive_ he made her feel. He used a hand to tease her as they moved together, rubbing in tandem with his hips. He leaned forward as he came close, taking her face in his hands in a fit of desperation, clinging to her as he rushed towards the bounds of his sanity, rushed towards the edge of the great abyss along with her, his eyes locked on hers full of limitless love that made her world fracture and shatter as it broke in great waves against her own feelings.

“Cassandra…” her name was a prayer on his lips, worship on his tongue, a chant of devotion dedicated to her that was as sinful as it was divine, and she was enamored with it, taking it to heart with the same unquestioning belief as any other fact of life or faith. When he used her name it was an invocation of everything he felt for her, a declaration written in the stars that dared the very heavens to question it, and hearing it she knew, without any shadow of doubt, without any hint of fear or remorse, that he loved her more than any love story could convey, more than any word could ever define, more than the simple phrase ‘I love you’ could explain. Her name on his lips was the world, and she would never grow tired of hearing it spoken to her in this way.

It felt like years, ages, eons later, but finally she came undone once more, and he followed her this time, releasing his own tension with a guttural cry that tore through the room, tore through her heart, filling her soul with more gratification than she had ever known.

He collapsed against her afterward, his head against her stomach, and she laced her fingers through his hair as they both panted in the purple gloom, trying to catch breath with lungs so overworked that they never seemed to properly fill. He rose after a minute, dragging himself up to lay next to her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her deeply, a farewell to the passion and a welcome to the sweet afterglow of their love.

They didn’t say that they loved each other again, because they didn’t need to. There are no words that could express what they felt any better than what they had just shared. Now, with the truth in the open, nestled between them in the sweat soaked sheets, the only thing left for them was to fall asleep, and she could be comfortable in the knowledge that the man of her heart slept right next to her. Cassandra had finally found a place to call home, and while she might never have imagined it before, she couldn’t think of anything that could possibly be better.


	45. The Hummingbird and the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Autumn is torn apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has a companion piece, The Folly of Dreams, which I have posted just a moment ago and can be read here on AO3, although I'm also going to post it on tumblr with the chapter update announcement. 
> 
> This also might be the last update for a bit, as I am going on hiatus until I have finished the DLC...which honestly probably won't take very long so you may not actually see an interruption of our regularly scheduled word parades. 
> 
> Also, ENJOY THE ANGST. #SOLASFEELINGS.
> 
> PS This is officially what I consider the half-way point of the story. WOO WE MADE IT.

Autumn felt it in her bones, felt it in all the little fibers of her skin, felt it crawling through her mind like a beast trying to scratch its way free from her skull. It woke her out of a deep sleep that should have been easy, that should have been dreamless, but instead was just over, driven away by the maddening sensation that something was wrong, that something was lost, that something was breaking that could never be repaired. Her heart thumped against her chest as she rose out of bed, the need to find the source of her distress like the keening call of a coming storm, and as she dressed her fingers shook, her hands clumsy as she pulled on her boots. She was out the door and down the stairs as quickly as her legs would carry her, Cullen still resting peacefully in their bed. She burst into the cold night air outside as her breath came in great puffs from her chest, frostbitten lungs pouring steam into the atmosphere. She made her way to the gates, racing across the bridge, so full of madness and adrenaline that she wasn’t even winded. She wasn’t sure how she knew where to go, she wasn’t sure why she felt like the world was in free fall all around her, but instinct delivered her where logic couldn’t go, carrying her to exactly where she knew she needed to be. When she reached her destination she saw him, regal in his robes, marble cast in the silver spun threads of moonlight.

And he was walking away.

“You're leaving.” she said. Her voice was quiet, but it carried across the clearing, chasing the bits of snow that hung in the dark air like stars that had fallen from their stations. She could pinpoint the moment it reached his ears, the moment he froze, coming to a stuttered halt to stand there on the frost laden stones, knuckles white around his staff.

“I was never going to stay.” He was so matter of fact about it. So carefree in the admission that he didn't want to stay with them. He didn't even turn around, didn't even have the decency to look her in the eyes…wasn't even going to say goodbye. Again.

“Why?” she demanded. She took a couple of steps forward, the cold digging into her skin, her resolve as icy as the air that stole her breath away.

He flinched at her question, but remained stubbornly facing away from her. “How many times will you ask me that?”

“Damn you, Solas, until I get an answer! Until you explain to me what's going on!” She took another half step forward, reaching out to him even though he was still too far to touch. “You don't get to do this. You don't get to slip away in the middle of the night without a word. You don't get to...to leave me again! Why? Why are you leaving again?” she felt the tears coming, scorching compared to the frigid ice in her veins, and she let them fall. “Please, Solas...”

Her voice broke and she could see that it broke him. With speed she would have never thought possible he tossed his staff down, whirling on her and closing the distance between them. He grabbed her, pushing her back until she was pressed against the cold slate of the wall, crushing her against the inflexible bricks. She grabbed his biceps, bracing herself against the bitterness in his eyes, searing sorrow and something unspeakably angry swirling in blue depths that were endless and unyielding. Her kind, wonderful, peaceful friend stared her down, shivering against her as his breath ghosted across her face.

“Why can you not accept this? Why can you not just let me be?” he was begging her, voice trembling as he gave her a little shake, a tiny motion that barely stirred her but left every nerve along her spine lit up in response.

“Just tell me! Give me a straight answer and I swear I'll let you go! But I won't accept this...this...I won't just let you abandon me here without some explanation!” she sobbed, her lips shaking with the effort of forcing the words past the heaving in her chest. She couldn’t handle this happening again.

Looking into his eyes was like watching a storm break across the open sea, waters churning against the endless crashing of wind and rain, washing over her in a brief moment where she could see whatever resolve he had been clinging to shatter against the tides. Solas dipped his head and kissed her, lips surging into hers like a tidal wave as he melded to her, so close she could feel his heart beating against her chest. Autumn froze, unable to move or think or breathe. It was like being kissed by time, by something that was a part of her that she had never even touched before. She could see her memories playing through her mind, moments spinning before her with a new clarity that shook her to her very soul: Solas wrapping around her to seal the breach. Solas’ relieved smile as he healed her in battle. Solas telling her she was worthy beneath the glittering sky. Solas kissing her forehead as he raced to save Cullen. Solas laying with her under the fireflies, quietly loving her while she held his hand. Through his lips she remembered every moment they had ever shared together and she knew, _knew_ , that he had loved her. Loved her in a way she had never seen, in a way she had never been willing to admit, a way that she had never returned, a way that must have tortured him every day.

He pulled back, just a fraction, releasing her lips to press his nose against her, resting his face next to her own as he choked on a sob. “I love you. You know me as Solas, but I am also Fen'harel, known amongst the people as the Dread Wolf.” he took a deep breath, his lips still close enough to dance against her skin as he spoke, his admissions marking her flesh with gentleness that belied their pain. “I am the one who gave the orb to Corypheus, the one responsible for every bad thing that has ever happened to you. _I am the being whose mark you bear_. I am forever bound to you, _and I love you_. More than anyone or anything I have ever known, I love you. I loved you when you fell at Haven, I loved you when you returned from the fade, I loved you when you brought an empire to its knees. I loved you when you tore down the heavens to save us all. I loved you then, I love you now, and I will _always_ love you. I have lived ages and never loved as I have loved you…and I would face down the void just to save you. I love you.” He cupped her face, fingers sweeping along her cheekbones for the briefest moment before he pulled away again, her skin crying out with little pinpricks as it missed the warmth of his contact.

He let her go, stepping back. She could see the tears pouring out of his eyes, blue paned windows to a tragic soul, and she placed her hands against the wall behind her, grasping the stone to keep her upright as her knees shook and her heart broke. She didn't speak, because there was nothing that she could say. Nothing that she could tell him to make this pain any less for him, to make it any less for her. He gave her a small smile before he walked quietly back to his staff, picking it up and dusting the snow off of it. He took one last look at her, his gaze measured in lengths of sorrow and wanting, before turning and walking away. She watched him go, _let_ him go this time, and when he was finally out of sight she collapsed onto the ground, sobs tearing out of her like knives.

It was a flood. It was a flood that came from between his lips and poured out of his heart, washing her away in the currents of something she could never have understood before, something she could barely understand now. It was a flood of things that were never meant to be but always meant to be dreamt about, things that tingled at the ends of their fingertips while the connection between them flared bright like a dying star. It was a flood of memories that held together the pieces of her heart that suddenly burned, searing her in places she never knew she could ache, places that were once safe, once open and kind and trusting, now barren and bleak and dying, because part of her was walking away, delicate little footprints trailing behind him in the snow as he faded out of her life, forever this time.

She loved Solas. Not like he needed her to, not like he wanted, but she loved him all the same. She loved Cullen, with all her heart and soul, in all the ways that Solas wished she loved _him_ , and she could no more change that than she could reach up and pick a bouquet of starlight. But watching Solas walk away was killing her; slowly, silently, step by step and inch by inch, until the sobs in her throat were cleaving out of her, ripping her lungs to ribbons as the tears made little tunnels in the top of the snow. She was the dawn, the quiet sky on which fate painted a hazy path of fire and light. She was the sky, and if Cullen was her sun, bright and beautiful and shining so that no shadow could touch the world, if Cullen was the sun then Solas was the moon, waiting in the blackness to guide her when the world gave her nothing else to see. Her moon was being torn from her, ripped from the sky and cast into the infinite blackness, and he was so much she never thought he was, so much that shouldn’t be possible, so much _more_ than he had any right to be, and he was walking away.

Her knees were numb and her cheeks were frozen by the time Cullen lifted her up out of the snow, cradling her to his chest as she cried about another man that loved her. She clung to him, the warmth of his cloak a hiding place, a place where she could bury her face from a world that was too cruel. She cried and he shushed her, rumbling humming sounds that she felt all through her body while she lay against his chest. He carried her back across the bridge, up the steps inside the gates and along the battlements, kicking open the door to his office without ever removing his hands from around her. When the door shut again they were bathed in darkness, and she reveled in the way his arms felt as they surrounded her in the middle of that void.

_I would face down the void just to save you_. His words echoed in the obscurity, so loud that she couldn’t shut them out, so vivid she could see them when she closed her eyes, so painful that surely she must be bleeding, melting away into the floor as tiny drops of loss and sorrow.

Cullen set her on the edge of his desk as she sobbed, words failing her completely. Calloused fingers brushed across her cheeks, wiping away the coldest of the tears only for warmer ones to replace them, her skin red and swollen and her heart black and shriveled.

“He left.” He said. It wasn’t a question, no hint of doubt in his tone. She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but she could feel his grief, pouring off of him in amber waves.

“He loved me.” The words felt like they cut her lips, like she had swallowed glass and was spitting it out, tearing her apart with a thousand tiny wounds too small to bleed.

“He was a good man.” Cullen said, and the valiance of that statement, the truly brave acceptance that he offered to her even after such a monumental admission, his solid _goodness_ , was overwhelming. Here was a man who could offer her nothing but wonder, not a jealous bone in his body even when he had every right to have one, even when he would have been justified in thinking less of their friend for his affections towards her. There were no words to describe her gratitude, no words to describe just how in awe of his compassion and kindness she was, and so she clung to him, letting her tears fall, letting her wound bleed, allowing him to hold her and keep the poison of her loss from sticking inside her veins.

“He was more than we ever knew.” She told him. Her mind whirled with the truth, spun like a leaf on the last threads of a web, twirling in the wind in the moments before it would become too much, and something would snap, and she would fall down, down into the darkness below. “He wasn’t just a good man, he was a god.”

He stilled against her, frozen like a rabbit sensing a predator lurking in the brush, and she knew her words had muddled him. “What?”

“He told me. The elven god, the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel. That’s who he really was.” So much made sense, so much more hurt, so many pieces fitting together that she never even thought to try. An elven god. Something ancient, something pure, something untouched by time and its fickle whims, and he had _loved_ her.

Cullen placed a palm against the desk, leaning heavily on his arm for support without actually letting her go. “Really? I mean, that’s…how do you know?” his confusion was palpable, thick like molasses as it dripped from his words.

She held up her palm, the green smear glowing faintly in the black of the room, casting reflections into his eyes as he looked down into it. “The foci was his. This mark is _him_. I never knew it, but I should have. I should have seen it…how could he do this? How could he _be_ this?”

“I’m sorry, love.” He kissed her forehead, but the action only reminded her of HIM, and so she cried anew, more tears, more pain, more memories that would kill her slowly as they danced across her mind.

“I don’t want to lose him. I can’t be what he wants me to be, but I don’t want to see him go.” Her chest hurt, the words hurt, everything was fire and pain. Her new beginning, that bright future she had seen in the moments after their triumphant return, all of it seemed gone, all of it empty, part of her family torn from her. She was selfish to need this, selfish to resent him for needing to leave, and as much as she understood it, as much as she could finally fathom why he couldn’t stay, she hated that it had to be this way.

“I know. I don’t want him to leave either, but it’s his choice.” Cullen’s voice was heavy, full of all the same conflicting emotions she felt. In all their time together, their love had only brought joy to those around them. People would see their tender smiles and lingering gazes, and it would bring them hope, security, like the first flower of spring emerging from the dreary snow. Never did she imagine her love for Cullen would tear someone apart, never did she imagine it would bring mourning right to her doorstep, wearing a suit made from the tears of someone else that she loved. It was unfair, impressively unjust, and there was no silver lining that she could find. There was no hope that this would have a happy ending, no demon she could fight, no villain she could vanquish. The bad guy in this story was HER, lost and empty and desperately in love with two different men in two different ways, and her love for one forced her to give up her connection with another.

“He’s part of me. Not just the mark, not just his part in the Inquisition. He was my friend. I loved him, I truly did…it isn’t fair that it wasn’t enough. I wish…I wish there were more that I could do.”

“I’m sure he knows that. He did the best thing, for himself. For you. I know that if our situations were reversed I would have done the same, and that tells me that he truly loved you. He knows how you feel. I promise you, he knows.” His vow was sincere, and she threw herself into his warm embrace, wishing that his words could fill her lungs and drive out this ice that bred crystals in her blood.

It was too much; it wasn’t enough. She longed for the numbness of the shock she should be feeling, but all she found was the sharp knife pressed into her heart, slicing away at her as she tried to grasp onto anything that could grant her a reprieve. Time stretched out before her, a blanket of moments laid on the ground, her toes touching ripples that showed her all that would come. She would live years, decades, holding fast to memories that would kill her and save her, holding fast to a heart that was given to her that she didn’t know how to return. She would grow old with the regrets of being one person, with the sorrow of being unable to split her heart into enough pieces for them both. Everything in her future held the potential for joy, the potential for a million bits of normalcy that she could cobble together into a castle of bliss, but within that there would always be an emptiness. In the chambers of her heart a hollow would remain, in the halls of her castle a room would be dim, in the memories she would carve there would always be a shadow, all of them belonging to him.

Her chest hummed like the wings of her namesake, a hummingbird flitting through the gaps in her ribs as she tried to breathe around the panic throttling her throat. She could feel the distance between them, stretching across Thedas as he pursued his escape, as he hunted out a corner of peace that she was unable to provide. A wolf, prints in the snow, voice lifted to the stars as he called to her through space and time, and she could feel it, feel the echoes of his longing as she gave him up. She ran in his veins, she swirled in his lungs, and he trembled in her palm and fed into her energy. But it wasn’t enough; the push pull of their connection, the threads that would tie them together until her very last breath. Their souls were tangled together, following each other through hallways they could not travel, pieces of themselves clinging to a phantom life that could never be while the distance tore into their hearts. In another world, perhaps things were different. Perhaps there existed a place where their fractured fates intertwined forever. This one, however, saw that it was never meant to be, even if they wanted it, even if they needed it, that distance would still lay at their feet. In this world, the hummingbird and the wolf were never meant to stay, and so their only option was to let each other go.

Eventually Cullen carried her back home, back to the bed that was filled with all the love that she had chosen, and though her tears would soak the pillow she would still be held through the night. In the morning it wouldn’t hurt less, but in the daylight the sun could warm her blood, and she could take her husband’s hand and they could move on together.


	46. One of us Has to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a war meeting happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a wee bit short, and I apologize for that. For those of you who DON'T follow me on tumblr, I started my new job this week (yay!) and also had my car stolen (boo!), so things have been a little crazy for me. I promise I will have a more verbose offering for you next time.
> 
> ALSO, I have made some slight alterations to the storyline, and I will be including an interlude where Autumn handles what happens in the Descent. It doesn't really change the plot I already had, but it did change how I thought people would react to some things, so I feel like I should include it. 
> 
> For those of you who have not gotten a change to play it yet, you have quite a bit of time still, as this won't be happening for at least 10 or so chapters, although I think it's longer.
> 
> And lastly, next weeks chapter might be either early or late, as I will be attending PAX next weekend. If you follow me on tumblr I will absolutely be posting about the Bioware Panel and the DLC reveal, so that should be fun!!!! 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy this little nugget of story! Hopefully my brain wasn't too scattered and it hasn't fallen short in quality. :p

Melody wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders as she followed Alistair down the hallway, the pair of them making their way to the war room for the meeting. Now that the crisis with Anders had been averted they could finally settle in and discuss what could be done about the wardens, and she would be that much closer to finding a cure for the seething darkness lurking in her veins. She could wipe her blood clean, wipe Alistair’s blood clean, and then maybe they could finally get the life they had been promised when they had kept the shadows from wiping out their country.

The morning seemed to recognize the formal atmosphere, the clouds hanging in the air like somber curtains, blocking out the prying eyes of the sun. She could hear the steady drizzle of rain whispering against the rooftop, and was glad that the pathway from their chambers to the meeting room would not lead them into the open air. She was used to the cold, having lived in Ferelden her entire life, but on the days where the daylight seemed to hide away the Frostbacks seemed to bite into her bones with frosty fangs. It was lovely in the mountains, but she longed for the crooked streets of the market and the oily smoke of domesticity curling up from a hundred chimneys. Skyhold was not her home, it was not the place she wanted to build a family, and every day that she was here was another day she had failed to accomplish what she wanted.

“You know, if you keep frowning like that I’m going to have to tell a joke to make you laugh, and I haven’t thought of one, so I’ll probably just stammer around for a minute and say nothing funny at all, and then someone important will overhear, and by mid-afternoon the whole Inquisition will think the King of Ferelden is a fool.” Alistair wound an arm around her waist, fitting her against his side like she was made to rest there, like they had been carved from the same stone that was always meant to be put back together.

“Perish the thought.” She replied, smiling up at him. Seeing his boyish grin reminded her that she didn’t need the sun to warm her soul. She had all the brilliance she needed right there in those warm brown eyes, and not even the clouds above could dampen that heat.

He smiled back before dipping his head to kiss her, a quick action that left her lips tingling. “Worried?” he murmured the question in her ear, and the closeness of his voice sent a thrill down her spine.

She smirked, licking her lips as the wind rushed in to cool them. “One of us has to.”

“Oh ho! And yet still so full of wit.”

She rolled her eyes, allowing him to pull her in so close that he was almost crushing her. “Again, _one_ of us has to be.” She said.

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic; I haven’t the wit.”

“And yet somehow you rule Ferelden.” The dark voice surprised them both, and they turned to see Vivienne practically floating down the hallway from the other direction they had come, a sardonic smile on her perfectly structured face.

“Good morning Madame de Fer.” Melody tilted her head in greeting, which the mage returned with aplomb.

“Please, your majesty, I would be honored if you called me Vivienne.” Her thick lips curved in a smile that was somehow as structured as it was warm.

“Would you be honored if I called you Viv?” Alistair quipped.

The frown she tossed the king could have frozen the molten cores of the lost dwarven thaigs. “No.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he asked, letting out a theatrical sigh, and Melody discreetly shoved her elbow between his ribs.

They arrived at the war room all together and entered, the ambassador already waiting within wearing a gilded shirt that looked like she had stolen the sun from the sky and woven it straight into the ruffles.

“Good morning everyone.” Josephine beamed at them, twirling her pen in a way that made the feather at the tip dance. Courteous replies were exchanged as they all took up position around the heavy table, and Melody could already feel the excitement bubbling up in her chest. They likely wouldn’t be able to act on any plans they made until days later, even the swiftest of actions taking time when dealing with organizations this large, but they were finally planning. She would get to focus on something other than the steady loss of time, watching the sun rise and set while the wind eroded away her patience like sand whispering through the middle of an hourglass.

The door swung open moments later and Cullen and Autumn stepped through. Their eyes looked puffy around the edges, though their smiles were bright and cheerful as the ex-templar placed his hand on the small of Autumn’s back, guiding her as though his fingertips were all that were holding her up. The buoyancy the Inquisitor had carried with her since her return seemed to be lacking, and Melody wondered if something more had not happened to shadow the poor woman’s heart. She didn’t deserve it, but then none of them did. Not Lilly, not Autumn, not herself, or any of the people the three of them seemed to attract. The world was never fair, but it was still the world they must live in. Perhaps if they fought long enough they could at least make it one worthy of the people they loved.

“Alright, let’s get this planned and dealt with before some other disaster happens that we have to contain.” Autumn announced, resting her hip against the side of the war table as she nodded curt greetings to all those present. Her voice had the lingering rasp of one who had spent too long submerged in tears, but if anyone else noticed no one spoke of it.

Cullen walked around to the other side of the table, scrutinizing the map with interest. “Weisshaupt is quite a distance away.” He traced a finger across the Imperial highway leading form the Anderfels to Skyhold, as though he could calculate the magnitude of such a space by touch. “Any troops the wardens might send would have to cross through several territories in order to reach us. I don’t think we are likely to face any real hazard from them, since it would be madness to march any force large enough to worry us that far.”

Autumn stared at his hand, her brows coming together above the bridge of her small nose. “Are they serious about that threat of war?”

“All attempts to communicate with them have been ignored.” Josephine told them. “They have issued no formal declaration, but I expect they do not wish to merely give us the cold shoulder.”

Vivienne crossed her arms over her chest, looking down her nose at her stack of missives. “My reports indicate a large number of warden scouting parties being sighted throughout Thedas, but none have engaged us at this time.”

“We can’t exactly sit around and wait for them to make a move, though. Whatever is going on isn’t something I’m comfortable ignoring.” Autumn said.

“Plus we still need to get those amulets to Dagna so she can complete her research,” Melody interjected, “and I’m still hoping to find notes somewhere in the vaults that could give us more insight.”

Autumn nodded in agreement. “If we still have the opportunity to lead this dance, we should take it.”

“So you want to make the first strike.” Vivienne leaned forward, pulling out a sheet of paper and making quick notations with a pen. Melody could see her mentally calculating her stategy, planning how to get her people into position to provide support for whatever operation they would decide upon today.

Cullen shook his head, one hand moving up to rub the back of his neck. “We face the same problem they do. We simply cannot get enough people to Weisshaupt to make any meaningful attempt at breaching the fortress. It’s too far.”

“We would also risk antagonizing both Nevarra and Tevinter if we were to march across their borders.” Josephine said, absently making her own notes on her clipboard. “They could see it as an act of war, particularly if they are sympathetic to the warden’s cause.”

“Well we have to do something.” Autumn shifted her weight before hopping up on the edge of the table, grabbing one of the unused markers and twirling the small brass piece between her fingers.

“Could we seek aid from a closer country?” Alistair asked. “Surely a request from the Inquisition _and_ Ferelden would hold some weight.”

Melody looked to the map hopefully, but she grimaced as her eyes confirmed what she had feared. “The closest border is Tevinter.”

“Right, because _Tevinter_ will be perfectly accommodating, I’m sure.” Cullen scoffed.

While the rest of them seemed discouraged by the news, Josephine appeared elated. “Wait…you might be on to something, your majesty.” She said, her eyes sparkling. “I may be able to arrange an audience with Archon Gallus.”

Autumn raised an eyebrow at the diplomat. “You never told me you had connections with him.”

“I do not, but perhaps Magister Pavus _does_ , and we have a rather strong connection with _him_.” She responded, somewhat smugly. "It is all about who you know, Inquisitor."

Cullen chuckled, running his fingers through his air and dislodging several of the golden curls. “Dorian is going to love this.”

Autumn grinned back at him, tossing the little marker up in the air and catching it again. “He’ll live. We’ll get him a fruit basket to soften the blow.”

Josephine nodded before her eyes were glued to the paper before her, hand furiously writing out a flurry of text. “I’ll prepare letters to send out immediately…” she paused, tilting her head to the side in consideration, “and perhaps order Dorian some of those books he has been inquiring about for the last few months.”

Cullen turned to Vivienne. “Could you have your people continue monitoring the whereabouts of the wardens? I could benefit from details of where they are coming from and going, to try and reinforce our numbers around the areas they seem to be congregating.”

“Absolutely, my dear.” She replied.

“Great. I’ll put everyone on notice that we will be visiting the north.” Autumn hopped back down off the table, placing the little marker directly in the middle of Minrathous as though it represented the entire engagement. “Anything else I should know?”

Cullen stood up straighter, sharing a glance between the other advisors before giving his wife a curt nod. “That should be all, Inquisitor.”

Autumn gave him a secretive smile, obviously amused at his formality even now, before she spun on her heel and left the room. One by one the others followed, providing brief farewells as they rushed off to tend to their own duties. Melody moved to stand next to Alistair as he gaped at the now empty room, and she threaded her fingers in his while simultaneously using her other hand to push his jaw shut.

“They decided all that and they didn’t even have to _consult_ with the nobles.” He grumbled, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

“Well, they do have to send some of them letters.” She told him, laughing when he cast her a baleful glare.

“ _Letters_ though. No meetings, no handshakes, no trying to remember which fork offends the Nevarrans and which one pleases the Orlesians.” He sighed, jutting out his lower lip and widening his eyes as he looked down at her. “Can we join the Inquisition? Pleeeeeeease?”

She laughed again, tilting her head back and letting the sound tumble out into the room. She would have said more, would have thought of some words to rebuff her court-hating husband, but apparently the sight of her exposed neck was too much for him, and he quickly drove the rest of the conversation from their heads with his lips on her throat.

At least she would enjoy the lull in action while they awaited word from Tevinter.


	47. A Passing Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bryce fails at flirting but makes a friend instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter because of PAX. Next week's chapter will probably be nice and long, because I am going to have to cram 3 scenes into it, but I'm sure you guys don't mind. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy some good ol' fashion OC interaction!!

There was, as it turned out, very little for Bryce to do in Denerim. He had taken a brief foray to the marketplace, but that hadn't lasted long as he had not made the journey from Skyhold with an excess of money, and the traders there had very little patience for people with empty pockets. The sights and sounds had been amusing for awhile, but eventually the boisterous dwarven man yelling about his crafts had become too much for his patience, and he had wandered back to the inn.

It had been several days since they had heard anything at all from Sera. She had managed to send them one cryptic note, delivered via an arrow precariously launched through their window, that was relatively nonsensical. She had scribbled something about rallying the people who were "sensible twats", and then drawn several crude pictures of griffons being kicked in the groin. Zevran had been amused by the missive, Lessa had ignored the matter entirely, and Bryce had just been disappointed. He was not a man that took well to indolent hours, preferring to be active rather than idle.

Zevran was currently out doing whatever it was Antivan assassins did while they were in Ferelden while Lessa was displaying her masterful talent for ignoring him, so he was essentially left to his own devices. Even the owl seemed to have more important places to be, as it had flown out the window before the sun rose and had not yet returned. He did his very best to fill the time he had with whatever tasks he could think of, but there wasn't much he could do in the small room. So far today he had counted the number of floorboards from one side of the room to the other, reorganized everything in his pack, written several letters to home that he would send when he returned to Skyhold, and he had presently finished studying the structural integrity of the wooden beams holding up the cobweb strewn ceiling. He let out an exasperated sigh as he sat forward in the chair, the cushion wheezing beneath his shifting weight. He looked around the room to see if there was anything else he could think of to occupy himself, and for perhaps the thousandth time his gaze came to rest on the strange Dalish mage.

She was dangerously pretty. Her tattoos were like lines of moonlight traced directly into her skin, and her pale hair seemed to shine with its own inner light. He had done his best to discreetly study her over the past week, and he found himself somewhat entranced by her. It was captivating the way her lips would occasionally move when she was focused on whatever she read, sounding out words Bryce could neither hear nor understand. The way her eyes could make him feel like she saw straight through him made him fear she might be casting some sort of spell, even though he had long ago learned to sense the magic in the air when a mage was actually doing something. She had a sort of aura about her that made him nervous, but it also made him excited. She felt like... _purpose_. That was the only way he knew how to describe it. She felt like the physical embodiment of the feeling he'd had in his chest the day he had been given his official Inquisition uniform, or when they had marched into the Arbor Wilds for what had been a pivotal confrontation with the enemy. He could see destiny in her eyes, much like he always had when he looked at the Inquisitor, and that similarity frightened him far more than her wild temperament or her lurking magical talent.

"Shall I do a trick?" she asked, peering at him over the frayed edges of the ancient book she cradled. The sound of her voice startled him out of his brooding thoughts, and he realized he must have been gaping at her for some time for her to have noticed.

"No, er...sorry." he mumbled, mortified at his own ineptitude. What had gotten into him? Was this attraction? Was he merely stumbling over himself because she was a gorgeous woman? He had never had this issue when dealing with the Inquisitor - or any of the other attractive women, who almost all outranked him, within the Inquisition - but perhaps that was because she was always unavailable. Instinct told him otherwise. Instinct told him there was more there than the desire to be with Lessa, but logic often muddled such facts, and he couldn't separate how he truly felt from the fact that he found her pleasing to the eye. "So, what are you reading?" he asked finally, wishing he could fill the silence with something more meaningful than trivial chatter.

She arched an eyebrow at him, tracing the spine of the book with a long finger. "Are you interested in the study of elven relics?" her words were innocent enough, but her tone betrayed her amusement at the question. Bryce got the feeling much of the things she encountered in the world were as one big joke to her.

"Are you?" he immediately regretted the retort as he watched her _other_ eyebrow shoot up, the smile on her lips almost cruel.

"I might have a passing interest." she replied. She very pointedly tapped a finger against the tattoo on her cheek, angling her head so that he couldn't miss the hint. "I couldn't imagine why, though."

He sighed, letting his head sink in defeat. "Right, I'll just let you get back to it, then."

Her laugh caught him off guard, and he glanced up at her. For a moment he felt like he was sinking into her eyes, but when she spoke it shattered the sensation. "You're not attracted to me, little shem."

He chewed on the inside of his lip as he considered a possible response. "And how would you know what I'm attracted to? You're a very beautiful woman, what makes you think I wouldn't be attracted to you?" he leaned back in the chair, slightly more comfortable with this strange debate than he had been with the silent contemplation from a moment ago. Now that they had found a topic that had a purpose, rather than him floundering about to find anything to say, he could handle the situation. He was good at talking. He had a quick wit and sharp tongue. _This_ was more within his realm of talents.

She closed her book and set it on the table, perching at the edge of her seat like some great bird of prey waiting for him to make the wrong move before she took flight. "Perhaps it's an old Dalish secret."

"I would think mind reading would have come up a time or two before now if that were the case. You aren't the first Dalish elf I've met, you know." he steepled his fingers together, as though he were in some sort of delicate negotiation with her. The moment _did_ feel fraught with fragility, as though one wrong move could send them tilting in a different direction, but he had the sense that whatever was happening was positive. He was chipping away at the barrier she had up around herself, and perhaps once he had broken through he would at least have a friend to converse with, and he could abandon his catalog of the different shapes of dust motes that caught the morning sunlight.

"Oh! My apologies, I did not realize you were quite so worldly." she sneered. "Very well, if you simply must know _all_ my secrets." her eyes sparkled with mirth, and the way she spoke let him know that whatever she was about to say would be _far_ from revealing all the cards she held in her hands. "I can see it in your eyes."

"My eyes?" he prompted when she didn't immediately elaborate. She seemed to enjoy the theatrics of the entire conversation just as much as the content, and he had to admit he felt much the same way.

"Yes. I can see you studying me, confused about why your gaze follows me across the room. You are drawn to me, but you know not why. You aren't attracted to my physical form, though you do find it appealing. You are attracted to the pull of destiny, to the tendrils of fate wrapped securely 'round my throat." she said.

"And you got all that just from my eyes?" he mused.

"You don't live long in certain territories without learning to judge a man by what's behind his eyes. That's where all their intentions are made clear, be they dangerous or decent. I am...better at it than most."

"Well, you're not wrong." he let the air fill with the pleasant tension building between them, a connection born from finally discovering a bit of common ground on which they could both share footing. They may not share many interests, but it seemed they found each other fascinating, and for the time being that was enough to break the careful layer of ice that had settled betwixt them.

"I rarely am." she tossed her hair over her shoulder, like drawing a silk curtain past a darkened window.

"What would you say if I told you I was _also_ very attracted to you? In addition to the whole 'drawn to your fate' idea, of course." he leaned forward, his voice dipping low as he intensified his gaze.

She tipped her head back and laughed, the muscles along her throat shifting as the sound poured out into the room. "You're cute." she announced, and even though she paused and let the silence fill the gaps in her words, Bryce could hear the 'but' coming as clearly as the call of the rooster from his family farm. "But you're chasing the wrong scent through the woods."

It was difficult not to feel some level of disappointment. It was true that he was only half convinced that he was, indeed, attracted to her, and he wasn't sure if the conversation they had just had could be construed as flirting. It was even a fair assessment to say he may only be attracted to her because he was bored, and that otherwise he would not have been pulled into her intriguing presence quite so much. But still, she had rebuffed him quite thoroughly, and no one takes rejection without feeling some level of regret. After all, she was very pretty.

She stood up from her seat, and he could feel her draw magic into herself. It wasn't a powerful spell, so it only stirred the air enough to make his skin tingle just along the surface, like he had just felt a hundred drops of rain that were immediately dried by the wind. She held out her hand, palm up, and above it appeared a small orb of light, no larger than a sparrow, pulsing with an erratic green glow. It hovered there for a moment before she wiggled her fingers, and it seemed to know that was a signal for it to act. It zoomed from her hand and flew rapid circles around his head, and he watched it, mesmerized, as it seemed to dance and play in the air near him. Now that it was closer he saw it take the form of a tiny owl, translucent and shimmering like the surface of some enchanted crystal. It was beautiful to see, and he wondered why mages didn't cast spells like this more often. It would be hard for people to fear something that could bring about such a beautiful little creature. The wisp continued its path for a moment before it sank down into his lap, and with a small burst of sparks that hit his skin like a cool spray of mist, the glow went away and he was left with a small owl crafted of woven vines, perched on his knee.

"I like you, Bryce. I can see a lot of good in you, but my heart has not been mine to give for quite some time." her smile was genuine, if a bit wistful, and as he gazed into her eyes he found he couldn't possibly remain disappointed after such a sweet display.

He held out his hand to her, smiling. "Friends, then?"

She took his extended palm and they shook on it, her amusement evident in the off kilter tilt of her lips. "Friends." when she released his grip she reached over and ruffled his hair, pulling most of the loose strands down in front of his eyes and laughing as he struggled to correct the errant locks. "You're not so bad for a shem." she told him.

He grinned up at her, shaking his head. "You're not so bad for an _elfy_ elf."

She laughed and returned to her seat, picking up the book and resuming her studies. Bryce resumed his silent contemplation, but he was glad that the pressure of being in the same room with her seemed lighter than it had before.


	48. Shall we Make Things More Interesting?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wicked Grace gets a bit out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!  
> Merry Christmas everybody.
> 
> SO, updates and things. First of all, I lost control of this chapter rather fast. This was supposed to be one little chapter before we moved on in the story, but it has somehow gotten away from me...to the tune of becoming two chapters that are both above 8K words. Clearly it had other ideas. I blame/thank Kmandergirl, so if you enjoy what is going on here and in the next bit, go tell her on tumblr or something. XD Part 2 of this little event will hopefully be posted before new years. 
> 
> And then we will go back to no updates on this for awhile. For those of you that didn't know, I am in the process of sprucing up the previous entries in the Red-Headed Rogues series. The DA:O fic (Melody's story) is in the middle of a rewrite right now, and after that I will be re-writing Lilly's story. They are both getting nice and long, at least as long as Tearing Down the Heavens was, so if you are interested or haven't read them before, now is a good time to check them out. I will also be making some minor edits to TDtH and this fic, but nothing too major. 
> 
> Sorry that all of this is taking so long. I've been working, going through my divorce, moving, getting sick, and then also the holidays. XD It's been busy. But I promise I am not abandoning any of these stories. In fact, I have plans for at least 5 more fics to add to this universe at some point, one of which will be receiving a teaser on tumblr later today. ;) (I am the GM for a Dragon Age Tabletop RPG group, and I am going to be turning our campaign into a story that fits in with this universe, so a small teaser was made in the course of our game. Stay tuned for that, although it will be some time before I can get to writing the whole thing) 
> 
> SO, hopefully you enjoy this chapter. It was a bit difficult to write because of all the characters, so I am hoping it isn't too disjointed. 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL.

_Dear Rhys and Evangeline,_  
_Autumn said you were leaving. I have trouble hearing it now, but if I listen I can still hear you worry. I like it here. I have friends, and Baron Plucky, and Autumn says that we are a family. We help a lot of people, and they make sure I always feel real._

_I'm going to right_ (this has been crossed out) _write to you a lot. Now that I know where you are and I know that you remember and that you want to remember. I think that is my favorite part about being human, is being remembered. Things don't get as sharp anymore, but I still have dreams about the cupboard sometimes. Dorian and The Iron Bull help._

_I am sad you will not stay to play cards with us. Varric says I shouldn't talk to the face cards, but sometimes I do when he isn't looking. I think sometimes they like to be played with. The parts of them that used to be trees remember the laughter of people in the woods, and the laughter at the games reminds them. It is good to remember the past sometimes. Sera showed me how to hide the cards in my hat once._  
_Love,_  
_Cole_

 

_Dorian,_

_I swear on the holy nugs of the Chantry, if you don't take care of him I will see to it the Divine sends assassins after you._  
_-Evangeline_

 

_Evangeline,_

_My, my. You know, I knew the Divine BEFORE she put on the white robes. She might actually hesitate to kill me._  
_-Dorian_

 

_Dorian,_

_Please do not antagonize her. I have to ride all the way back with her, and if she is planning your death she will be dreadfully grumpy._  
_-Rhys_

_Rhys,_

_Tell your lady knight she has nothing to worry about._  
_I love him almost as much as I love myself._  
_-Dorian_  
(scribbled at the bottom of the page, in a different script)  
_He is full of bright boasts, like the feathers of a peacock, but he loves so much more than himself. I’ll be happy now, I promise._

 

***

 

"Ladies and gentleman, the woman you will be losing all your money to this evening has officially arrived." The sound of the tavern door slamming shut behind her added drama to the statement as Isabela swaggered across the room, her eyes burning with greed and excitement, like lanterns cutting through the fog of the alcohol buzzing in their veins. She took her place in an empty seat at the head of the table, grinning from ear to ear as she surveyed the group that had gathered. Nods and smiles were exchanged, and Autumn struggled to hold the pleasant expression on her face that probably looked normal, but felt like a ghost lurking across her visage.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Solas had gone, and the hole that he had left behind had slowly filled with icy shadows, a pit that Autumn placed in the back of her mind so that she could try not to feel it every day. Nobody mentioned his absence, nor did they ask about the long, empty gazes she often fell into as she tried not to count all of the memories that had been changed by what she now knew. They didn’t know the truth, but they knew his leaving had marked her, just as visibly as the breach had marked her. Both times from him, though that knowledge was also behind a wall built of secrets that carefully danced around the reality. She didn’t want to spoil their memories, didn’t want to tint the friendships that he had made, with the shade of hurt that his identity could cause. It was better that they saw him as he was, as the man that they knew him to be, and not the legend that dogged his footsteps as he hid himself from the world. It was even more important that they never know WHY he had to leave, never know the way his lips had stolen something from her that she never meant to give. It was better that they never find out that the Dread Wolf loved her, so that they could never question what that meant, because Autumn didn’t want to think about what her answer might be.

Life in Skyhold had moved on at a normal pace, the second leaving of the quiet mage left little impact on the organization at large. The army was bustling for the first time in ages as they prepared for a potential threat from the wardens. Letters had been sent to Tevinter, and a response had been received just that morning saying the Archon was willing to meet with them in person to discuss a future arrangement. Josephine had cautioned them all that it meant that he wanted something, but that was hardly a surprise considering who it was. Tonight was one of the last nights that they would get to spend at home, and as a celebration of their success with Anders, as well as a small farewell party for those that were leaving, they had gathered in the tavern for one of the largest games of Wicked Grace that Autumn had ever seen.

Varric clicked his tongue as he rapped the deck of cards against the table. "You know, you haven't played against me in years, Rivaini. How do you know I haven't gotten better?"

"Because you're a dwarf,” Isabela tossed her hair, winking at him as though this were some salacious secret, “And dwarves never change."

"I got better!" Merrill interjected, all but raising her hand to include herself in the conversation.

Isabela smiled warmly and ruffled the mage’s short hair. "Of course you did, Kitten."

Cullen laughed next to her, and Autumn was happy to see a genial calm in his eyes that had been missing these last, long days. "Do you still play with 'elven rules'?"

Isabela glared daggers back at him. "Well of course! We can't break tradition, can we?"

"And what, pray tell, are 'elven rules'?" Autumn asked them, looking briefly to Bull and Dorian, who shook their heads, as nonplussed as she. In all her years of tavern crawling, she had never once heard mention of “elven rules”, and that included the time that she had played with Zevran against a group of Dalish archers who had stumbled upon their…intimate encounter, which had admittedly been in the middle of the woods a little closer to their clan than the young couple had intended. Surely with a game as “elfy” as that they would have used “elven rules”, had such a thing existed.

Merrill traced her fingers along the lines of the wood in front of her. "Dalish elves only have to bet one copper for each silver everyone else plays. To make up for the Exalted Marches."

Dorian shot halfway out of his seat, his hand braced on the table as though he were teetering on the edge of the world. "What?! That's the most preposterou-" Bull’s large grey elbow landed squarely in the mage’s stomach and he slumped back down in his seat, his mustache quivering as he glared at his lover. Bull’s eyes were full of intense meaning, and finally Dorian relented, "Fine." He mumbled under his breath.

Cullen leaned over and whispered against her ear, close enough that the stubble on his chin brushed against her neck and sent shivers down her spine. "No one ever wanted to take her money, but she insisted on playing, so we made up a rule to keep her from spending her savings on the game."

She met his eyes and grinned, keeping her voice low enough that only he would hear. “That's adorable."

Cullen cleared his throat, a small blush creeping across his face. "We were all far too soft in those days."

"Too bad nobody ever extended you the same courtesy." She quipped in return, smirking as she watched the verbal taunt incense him.

"I don’t need pity!” he retorted, too loud by half. Everyone at the table turned to stare at him, and the flush across his cheeks spread until the tips of his ears were a delightful pink. She flashed him another smirk of victory and spun one of her coins in front of her.

Fenris chuckled, the sound like dark amber honey poured over warm velvet cake. “You apparently never needed _money_ , either.”

“Cullen, I’m shocked.” Alistair told him, jutting out his chin with a frown of mock severity, “Just _shocked_ that a man of such upstanding moral integrity partook in gambling.”

Isabela leaned across the table, rolling her eyes as she picked up her mug, cradling the glass as she spoke. “Love, Cullen never got to do much _taking_ of any kind in those days.”

Cullen’s brows met above the bridge of his nose, an angry furrow directed at the pirate. “Well it’s hardly fair when you were constantly cheating.”

Isabela was on her feet in a heartbeat, her mug slammed back down on the table as she aimed an accusatory finger in Cullen’s direction. “You haven’t an ounce of proof!”

“And _you_  don’t have a shred of dignity!” he shot back, half grinning and half frowning. Autumn narrowed her eyes, wondering if he was enjoying the spectacle more than he would ever admit. The light in his eyes belied his anger, and she settled herself more comfortably into her chair, ready to enjoy this evening somewhat more than she had expected. It would be interesting to see her husband’s old rivalries, particularly the healthy ones, resurface and rekindle the sense of humor and competition that he so rarely got to exert. They had seen enough death and loss to last a thousand lifetimes, but this was something that, no matter the stakes, could not result in tragedy, and she could see the pressure and stress fall off his shoulders like so much snow from a branch, melted from spring’s hesitant kiss.

Melody reached across the table and cupped Cullen’s chin, shaking his head from side to side. “How could you swindle this innocent face?” The entire table broke into raucous laughter as Cullen swatted her away with a scowl, but the twitch at the edge of his lips let Autumn know it was an act, and an act that he was enjoying.

“Laugh it up.” He told them. “Mark my words, I’m winning tonight.”

Josephine cleared her throat, looking pointedly at the coin she was counting as she started speaking. “I believe I recall you saying the same thing the last time we played, Commander.”

“If that’s his definition of winning, I vote we _let_ him.” Dorian added, wiggling his eyebrows at Autumn. “I could use another good show. Bull, do you remember the way the firelight just glistened off that perfectly sculpted – ”

Cullen slapped a hand over his eyes, trying to hide his ever deepening blush. “Maker’s breath.”

Lilly raised an eyebrow, looking over those gathered at the table with renewed interest. “Something tells me I need to hear this story.”

Anders nodded in agreement, leaning forward and gesturing for Dorian to continue. “Indeed. Let’s go back to the part that was glistening.”

Cullen groaned. “Must we?”

“I did warn you, Commander.” Josephine smiled, like poison covered in powdered sugar, a wolf standing before them masquerading as a kitten. “Never bet against an Antivan.”

Varric rubbed his hands together, eagerly settling into the telling of one of his favorite tales from recent years. “Our lovely ambassador grew tired of taking his money, and so wagered his armor instead. Curly took the bait, because he apparently doesn’t know what’s good for him, and of course he _lost_.”

Melody dropped her jaw, her lips forming a perfect red “o” as she placed her hands on her hips. “Cullen Stanton Rutherford, are you telling me you stripped because you lost a game of wicked grace?”

“Down to nothing but the glistening skin the Maker gave him!” Autumn lifted her glass in salute of one of her _own_ fondest memories from the last few years, giggling as Cullen gave her a long suffering glance.

“Do not encourage them.” He said, unable to suppress the smile shining through his admonishment.

She bumped her hip against his across the slim gap between their chairs, sighing with exaggerated wistfulness. “I can’t help myself. Your glistening bits are my favorite subject!”

“So what did you do?” Alistair asked him, resting his chin against his hand as he leaned against the table.

Bull took up the tale from there. “Ran back to his room stark naked, faster than if we had set darkspawn on his heels!”

Dorian sighed, batting his eyelashes. “Best thing I’d seen since coming down south.”

Bull turned, frowning down at the mage. “Hey.”

“Oh hush,” Dorian waved away the concern like so much fog in his eyes, “it’s not like you weren’t staring too.”

“Oh for the love of -- can we please discuss something else?” Cullen shook his head, running his fingers through his hair and dislodging a single, errant curl that sprung against his temple.

Vivienne rapped her fingernails against the grain of the table, wrinkling her nose with distaste. "Enough stalling. Somebody had better deal the cards, or I'm going to go find someplace to retire that doesn't smell quite so...pungent."

Cassandra gave her a knowing grin. "You get used to it after an hour or so."

"Charming.”

Varric raised his hand and rested it on his half exposed chest, right over his heart. “Awe, thanks for mucking around in the mud with the rest of us uncultured peasants.”

Vivienne’s eyebrow quirked dangerously before she smiled like a feral cat. “Varric, my dear, did you just call the king and queen of Ferelden uncultured? I do believe that is an insult.”

“Varric, of all people, might actually be allowed to say that about me.” Alistair quipped.

“Besides,” Varric continued, sharing a wink with Alistair that made Melody roll her eyes, “don’t all Orlesians think Fereldans are uncultured anyways? I might have said it, but you were already thinking it, Iron Lady.”

Vivienne tilted her head back and let loose a laugh like ice hitting expensive crystal. “The Empire might have better class than some sections of the alternate societies, but if you still think I’m hung up on Orlesian customs, you have spent entirely too much time in your cups this evening, dwarf. Deal the cards so I can do the charitable thing and keep you from spending more on whatever swill it is you’ve deemed palatable.”

Varric bowed facetiously before shuffling the deck, the cards flipping together at lightning speed before he began tossing them across the table to the players, dealing the first hand of the game.

Cole frowned at Vivienne, tilting his head to the side so that his hat slid down around his left ear. “But you’re drinking the same thing.”

Vivienne and Varric exchanged a loathsome glance before the enchanter crossed her arms over her chest, turning her nose up at them all. Bull burst into a boom of laughter that startled Autumn, making her jump in her chair and rattle the entire table as her knee made contact with the bottom of the worn wood.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen.” He said, leering at their current spymaster with glee.

Josephine cleared her throat as she picked up her hand, only the slightest lift of her brow suggesting any reaction to the cards at all. “Cole, it’s impolite to give away a lady’s secrets.”

“Thank you, my dear, but it’s quite all right.” Vivienne picked up her own hand, her face forming an expression that Autumn had often seen as she poured over reports from her spies and assassins. “He can tell the whole world the contents of my cup, as long as it keeps him from dithering on about my cards.”

“I’m not allowed to talk about the cards.” Cole’s eyes darted to the dealing dwarf, a look of guilt flashing in the reflected lantern light within.

“Hey, he’s learning!” Varric lifted a hand in salute, giving Cole a gracious nod.

Isabela pressed her cards against her breast, leaning towards Cole with hawk-like interest. “Wait, he knows what other people are holding? Cole, sweetie, why don’t you come sit next to me?” She spun in her seat and pat her thigh, offering him a space in her lap.

Cole stood, fully prepared to wander over and take the offer, although Autumn suspected he didn’t understand the implications of the placement. Thankfully for them all, Dorian grabbed the hem of his tattered shirt, yanking him back into the seat so quickly that his hat wobbled and threatened to leap from his skull.

“How about no?” Dorian said, his brow furrowed at Isabela.

The pirate queen stuck out her lower lip, batting her eyelashes at Cole as a blush crept across his cheeks. “But I’m so lonely.”

Anders reached across the table and swatted the back of her head, causing Isabela to turn her attention from the spirit-turned-boy, rubbing the back of her head. Anders rolled his eyes at her dramatic display. “You are the literal worst, Izzy.”

Isabela huffed with indignation. “Spoilsport.”

Lilly tossed two of her cards on the table in order to be dealt new ones before meeting Isabela’s eyes. “Tramp.”

“Abomination-lover.” Isabela smiled as she spat her retort, a triumphant glow on her face as she settled back in her seat.

Anders set down his hand, folding before turning to Isabela in protest. “Hey –”

Lilly didn’t let him finish the thought before she was continuing their strange game, her eyes alight with mischief. “Elf fetishist.”

Isabela gasped, pulling back as though she had been physically hit. “That was low. I fetishize everyone equally, thank you very much.” Everyone at the table placed their best with quiet interest as they watched the exchange, and Alistair let out a low chuckle at Isabela’s comment that earned him a swift elbow in the ribs from his wife.

“Just me more often than most.” Fenris added, tossing one of his own cards and motioning for Varric to deal him another. Cullen raised the bet, and most of them followed his lead, with Cole, Vivienne, and Lilly dropping out at the added expense.

Dorian leered at Fenris from across the table, biting his lip with exaggerated excitement. “She’s hardly the only one.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Autumn noticed Isabela shift. It was a quick little motion, but she caught it nonetheless. She had timed it so that whatever she had done had taken place while all eyes were on Dorian, making his salacious spectacle the perfect distraction. It was no surprise that Isabela was cheating, and Autumn wasn’t even shocked that she had seen it. She _was_ surprised that she had done it the first hand, and she was even more peeved at the look that Isabela shot Cullen when she had assembled what was bound to be the winning hand.

Varric laid his cards out on the table first, and before any of them could even parse who had come out ahead Isabela slammed hers against the wood and giggled far too gleefully for Autumn’s taste. “Oh, look at that. I win.” Everyone at the table groaned, sliding their useless hands back to Varric so that he could begin dealing another round.

Cullen scowled, with real irritation this time. “Damnit! How?”

“Give up while you’re ahead, Curly.” Varric tossed another hand his way, contrary to the warning tone in his voice.

Josephine snorted a laugh through her nose, despite the indignity of the action. “Not likely.”

“Are you calling me stubborn?” Cullen asked her, picking up his hand and only just refraining from glowering at the blameless cards.

Josephine blinked at him in feigned innocence. “Is the sky blue?”

“Only lately.” Autumn interjected, drawing a laugh out of all of those seated, in particular the members of the Inquisition. Cullen rolled his eyes, but the smirk returned to his face.

She watched Isabela carefully out of the corner of her eye for a moment, and she noticed that the woman was watching Cullen with equal subtle interest, checking to read his face and determine what she would need to beat him. It was not about the money, Autumn realized. Isabela was playing for pride, for the title of the woman that Cullen could never defeat. She played her dirty hands just to shame the poor ex-Templar, and that was likely how she had always played. For years she had worn her sullied victories like a badge of honor, sailing in her as-good-as-stolen ship and laughing at the honest man’s manufactured misfortune. The others in their group allowed it to happen, letting it play out as a simple fact, that Cullen would always lose to Isabela, and that was just how things were. How many times had she taken him for all that he had unwisely offered? She seemed content in the assurance of her victory as she saw what she needed on Cullen’s face, a tiny twitch of her lips the only hint of a smile that managed to escape her carefully crafted demeanor. She had done this thousands of times before, and the years between their last match had not dulled her chances, as Cullen was still Cullen, and Isabela was still Isabela. She had failed to think things through tonight however. Cullen might not be capable of discovering how she was foiling him, but Cullen was no longer the lone man with no one in his corner.

It might be true that one should never bet against an Antivan, but what was perhaps more true in a game of wicked grace, and perhaps more deadly, was the honest fact that you should never try to cheat a rogue. Or her husband.

Autumn leaned to the side, snaking her hand along Cullen’s chest as she brought her lips to his hear. “Pretend I’m saying something exceptionally dirty.” She toyed with the collar of his shirt for effect, enjoying the heat of his skin while she put on her little act.

He blushed convincingly and turned to her ear, surprising her with the soft drag of his teeth across her lobe. “It doesn’t take much imagination with your hands doing that. Why am I pretending?”  
“Because I’m going to tell you how to beat Isabela.” She whispered back, inhaling the faint scent of armor that still clung to him despite his unusually underdressed state.

He smiled, a primal expression that darkened his eyes, and the hunger that she saw there sent a jolt of excitement straight into her belly, coiling there like a spring slowly being wound too tight. She chuckled, letting the heat rush through her body for a moment before she rose from her chair and walked across the room to fill her drink. She narrowed her stride, swaying her hips with every languid step. She didn’t need to glance back to know his eyes followed the motion, his pupils widening as color rose in his cheeks. She didn’t expect the giddy thrill that it would bring her, either, and she swallowed the sound that wanted to slip out of her lungs like a slow swath of flame. As she walked by Isabela on her way to the bar, she could see what she was afraid of. The pirate had a thousand pouches around her belt, and any one of them could contain the extra cards. Autumn watched her as her cup was refilled, pondering the puzzle laid before her. Isabela would have to be able to take the cards out easily, and without Cullen having ever noticed in the many years that she had been cheating him. It seemed impossible that he wouldn’t have seen her reach into one of the bags or pouches at one point, and it was impractical for Isabela to use more than one, or she would have accidentally defeated herself at one point with the wrong stolen hand.

Then she saw it. Isabela shifted her shirt, readjusting it so that it spilled more of her cleavage, and through a small pocket sewn into the side she slipped out an extra card. It was barely visible, and Cullen would never have spotted the sleight because he was too polite, too disgustingly honorable, to look at her while she heaved her breasts higher for greater exposure. It was a cheat designed to foil Cullen and Cullen alone, and she saw four of the other players hailing from Kirkwall at the table fold almost immediately after she had done it, the rest of them wise enough to have figured out the tactic for themselves.

Autumn tossed a coin to Cabot and grabbed her drink, turning to saunter back into her seat. She trailed her fingers along Cullen’s back as she sat, pausing to place a lingering kiss on his cheek so she could whisper in his ear. “Got her.”

Cullen nearly growled in response, sitting up straighter. The group went through the motions of the game quickly that round, cards moving in and out of play and coin pilling in the center of the table. Josephine made an aggressive bet, and Cullen bowed out when he saw the naked triumph on her face. Isabela followed him and folded her own hand, and Josephine played the humble victor as she dragged all of their coin towards her stockpile.

Anders slid his cards back to Varric, taking a thoughtful sip of his ale. “You know, it’s much easier to play without a spirit in my head complaining about games of chance.”

“ _Demon_.” Lilly uttered the correction like a venomous curse, and Anders immediately blushed, dipping his head low with shame. He nodded, glancing at her sheepishly through his downturned eyelashes.

Dorian cut through the tension of the scene before it could settle around them all like a pall. “Well, if you’re feeling nostalgic, you could always ask a chantry sister to come berate you. They are rather good at it.”  
Anders grimaced. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“He doesn’t like the quiet as much as he wants to.” Cole murmured.

“That’s enough, Cole. Look at your cards.” Bull told him, avoiding the gaze of both Anders and Cole as he studied the new cards that Varric had dealt.

Lilly drained her entire drink, slamming the empty glass on the table. Anders reached up and took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers before placing a kiss across her knuckles. She gave him a weak smile, and it seemed to release the pressure of the moment, the collectively held breath of the table releasing in a quiet rush. Autumn watched carefully as the cards and coin flew around the table, and took note of the fact that Isabela carefully engineered the betting so that those that were likely to have good hands dropped out before she finally folded herself, leaving Lilly with the winning cards.

“Ha!” Lilly picked up a piece of her prize money and flipped it in the air. “I knew I couldn’t possibly fail at _everything_.”

Anders trailed a finger along her lower jaw, stopping her in her tracks as he drew her attention with a smoky glance. “I know a few things you happen to be quite successful at.”

“Like stabbing things.” Fenris interjected.

“And also making friends.” Merrill added.

“And then getting them in trouble.” Varric muttered.

Lilly smirked and worked herself underneath Anders’ arm, leaning against him. The healer whispered something into her ear, and she gave him a smile that lit up her whole face in a way that was rare and beautiful. Autumn wasn’t sure that she had ever seen such honest joy on the other rogue’s eyes before, and the simplicity of how her love for Anders created that joy drove a little wedge of pain into Autumn’s heart. That smile of unabashed adoration was something she knew well, as she had felt it across her own cheeks as she lay in bed with Cullen, reveling in the perfect ease of loving him. Yet now she felt as though she had lost a piece of that. As though the revelations of their departed friend had stolen that ease with the knowledge that it was not easy, had never been easy, and that loving him the way she did had cost her, and everyone, something she had never expected. Would she still have that smile when she looked at Cullen? Or would there be a shadow of guilt in her eyes, a spike of loss and sorrow over what she could never be cutting across her throat and halting her joy?

Vivienne won the active hand, and Autumn let her doubts wash away in the distraction of the moment. Whatever she had lost, tonight was not the night to think on it. Tonight was for those that were still with them, for those that stood by her no matter what fault she may have done them, and she would not dwell on the absence of the quiet elven mage, whose wounds she would never be able to heal no matter how she tried.

Autumn took the opportunity between hands to lean into Cullen’s side, brushing her fingers across his thigh playfully as she kissed his lower jaw. It was quick, barely a peck, but it left her lips aflame and tingling as though he had devoured them for hours beforehand.

Isabela was peeking her eyes over the top of her cards, the smile in them wicked and conniving. “Oh come on Curly, you’re barely playing. What are you up to?”

Cullen cleared his throat, frowning down at Autumn with a very convincing look of disapproval. “Just distracted, that’s all.” Autumn grinned and bit her lip, enjoying watching both the frown on his lips and color on his cheeks deepen in response.

“She is rather distracting; I’ll give you that.” Isabela’s eyes roamed over Autumn’s body, and she couldn’t help but give the pirate a wink, which broadened her grin by another measure. Fenris rolled his eyes next to his wife, shaking his head and dismissing their behavior to gaze at his cards.

Lilly raised one of her delicate eyebrows in Isabela’s direction. “I didn’t know you were into redheads, Izzy.”

“That’s because you never took up the invitation to come to my bed.” Isabela gave her a sultry smirk as she tossed a decent pile of coins in the betting pool, upping the stakes for the others in the game. Cole quietly placed his cards face down on the table in response, and added a button to the golden group of coins for good measure, which Bull removed the moment the boy’s head was turned.

Anders gave Isabela a wolfish grin, winking as he spoke. “She was also very distracted.”

“Why don’t we all distract each other with playing cards?” Varric grumbled, bitter over some memory Autumn clearly wasn’t privy to as he cast a dark glance at Anders.

As the round continued on, Autumn felt Cullen surreptitiously slip his hand along her inner thigh, his feather light touch a plea for her attention as much as it was a tease that set her nerves aflame. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest and all her blood seemed to rush to her head, leaving her dizzy as her cheeks suffered from a sudden burst of heat. She found herself focusing on the soft pads of his fingers, sliding upward on the inner lining of her pants, so close to where she wanted them to be but still impossibly far. He leaned over after a moment and his breath danced against her ear as he whispered, “What’s the plan?”

It took a great deal of her willpower not to crawl into his lap and change “the plan” entirely. Rather than acting on the lewd impulse, however, she swallowed roughly and said, “Lose the next two hands.”

He hovered his hand ever closer to her center, beating like a trapped bird to the rhythm of her heart, and then slowly moved them away, lifting those wicked fingers above the table to grab an aggressive amount of coins and toss them into the pile. Her tongue felt like it had swollen in the back of her throat, and she closed her eyes, trying to bring her mind back to the task at hand, lest she lose herself in the adrenaline fueled lust that was threatening to overtake her.

Autumn grabbed a handful of her own money, counting rapidly before tossing it away. She would mourn the loss if she weren’t positive that they would be able to gain it back and then some. Her addition made the hand too rich for a few of their tastes, and the majority of the players folded. Around they went again, the tension rising, with Autumn subtly egging Isabela on by making a show of peeking at Cullen’s cards and looking pleased. Finally, after she was sure Isabela had seen the display, Autumn dropped out and it came down to the Commander and the Pirate Queen. Isabela called his bluff, and cackled madly as his sub-par cards won her the round.

The dance started again as Varric shuffled and passed along another hand. Cullen, smiling with the same easy confidence that had always driven her wild when she had first met him, grabbed a ridiculous bet to start the round before anyone else could begin.

Isabela raised an eyebrow at him, sitting up straighter in her seat as her attention was piqued. “Well, someone’s got big breeches today. Tell me, Curly, is that all just bravado down there, or do you have something to back up that swagger?” she licked her lips, and Autumn had to resist the urge to drive her dagger into the tabletop as a warning.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He replied darkly.

This seemed to delight her more than deter her, and she leaned forward, tapping her cards against the table. “Oh, indeed.” Vivienne glanced between them and quietly dropped out of the game, picking up her wine to sip slowly as she waited for the show to unfold. The court politician turned spy master had studied people and their subtle tells for far too long to miss the growing drama between the gambling rivals.

As his turn came around again, Cullen once more upped the bet, and Varric let out a low whistle through his teeth as he shook his head. “Shit Curly, you gonna bet all of Skyhold while you’re at it?” the dwarf tossed his cards down, leaving the round, and Cassandra sighed in exasperation and followed suit.

“I know what I’m doing.” Cullen assured him.

Isabela giggled. “Oh, let’s hope he doesn’t get distracted again.” She paused and tilted her head, tapping her cards against her cheek thoughtfully as she stared him down. “Tell me, Curly, what _does_ your little rogue do to distract you so?”

Cullen cleared his throat and gave Autumn a sideways glance, the apple of his throat bobbing as he swallowed whatever retort was on the tip of his tongue. Autumn lifted her hand and pulled at the loose curl still hanging by his temple, meeting Isabela’s eyes across the table. “I have my ways, pirate.” She folded her hand of cards, setting it on the table with a wink at the others gathered. “I’m out.” Bull, Dorian, and Cole immediately dropped out as well.

“Oh, I’m certain you do.” Isabela replied calmly. “Raise.” She tossed more coin onto the pile, and Josephine took the opportunity to bow out after a quick tally of the expense, followed swiftly by Fenris, Melody, and Alistair, who mumbled something about not having enough luck to gamble to save his life. Melody leaned over and kissed his shoulder, and his sour expression evaporated as he looked down at her.

Isabela ignored the sweet exchange, her eyes on Cullen and Autumn like a lion cornering a pair of wounded sparrows. “So, let’s play a little game. We can even wager, if you like.”

Cullen hesitated for only a moment before taking the obvious bait, raising a brow at her. “Aren’t we already wagering enough?”

“Oh, there’s no such thing.” Isabela said, laughing and preening in delight. Autumn’s suspicion rose with every second, but she carefully kept her face free of it.

Anders looked between them and tossed his cards away irritably. “I’m out. This is getting dangerous.”

Lilly nodded agreement. “I’m curious, but also out.”

Merrill followed, mumbling about never knowing which cards she had, anyways.

Isabela glanced around the table and held her arms out, tilting her chin up in defiance. “Well, Curly, it’s just you and me. Shall we make things more interesting?”

Cullen stared at her for a long moment, a moment that had the rest of the onlookers leaning forward waiting for his response. “How?” he asked finally.

Isabela pounced on the question. “Simple. If I can guess the dirtiest thing you’ve ever done with your lovely wife, you owe me double what you bet on this hand.”

“No.” Cullen’s response was swift and firm.

“Awe, really? I mean, you have the chance to win back…” she paused and counted everything in the pool before them, “nearly everything you’ve lost to me over the years. My, my, how could anyone resist that temptation?”

Autumn sipped her wine, looking at the pirate queen curiously. It was another ruse, another way to stack things in her favor. If Isabela’s aim was to take victory from Cullen, this was all just another way to do it. Another level that she could add to her triumph, his embarrassment and discomfort icing on her cheating cake.

“Take the bet.” Autumn said, giving the pirate a challenge in her steady gaze. “I’m curious to see what she thinks.”

Cullen exchanged a very quick look with her, and everyone else would have missed the small nod of recognition that passed between them, letting her know that he could still play his part. Out loud, he said, “You can’t be serious.”

“Come on love, I think I might like to buy _myself_ a new boat.” She replied, placing her hand on his shoulder as though to push him forward into the situation.

Isabela clapped her hands together before aiming an imperious finger towards Cullen. “Good woman! Your Inquisitor commands it, ser.”

“Fine.” He spat, feigning anger so convincingly that both Merrill and Josephine were starting to look uncomfortable. His palm sliding along the side of her leg told her that he was fine, however, and she wanted to applaud his effort as much as she wanted to throw everything off the table and _show_ them the naughtiest thing they had ever done.

“Oh good.” Isabela tossed another handful of coin into the bet, and bit her lip as she pretended to think things over. “Let’s see…ex-templar, worked in two different circles. All that pent up naughtiness must have gone somewhere after all those years.” She leaned forward, practically purring. “And yet even with all that boiling libido laying under those golden curls, I’m willing to bet she still had you beat.”

Cullen snorted out a small laugh, giving Autumn a knowing smile. Autumn returned the expression before she quickly tried to hide it behind her wine, bringing the cup to her lips to mask the tittering giggle that wanted to bubble out of her. Her aim was to gain victory for Cullen, but she had to admit she was enjoying the process _far_ more than she had anticipated.

“I’m sure it all would have started very tame.” Isabela continued. “Perhaps a surprise encounter in a hallway, turned steamy. Or you found some heat buried under a mountain of paperwork. Tell me, Curly, when you first kissed her, did your heart race? Did your head spin as your breath caught in your throat, turning a sigh into a moan?” Cullen adjusted his collar and averted his eyes. “No, no. It was the other way around, wasn’t it? You had her wrapped around that deadly little smirk of yours, didn’t you? That kiss must have been something.” She turned to Autumn, pretending to be aflutter with second hand nerves. “I’ll bet you were pinned against the wall, crushed in a sudden rush of passion, so intense neither of you quite expected it. As his hands moved all over you, you must have melted beneath him, begging for more, desperate for an excess of this forbidden thing you had suddenly found.”

Autumn chuckled, setting her glass down and crossing her arms. “I do believe your bet is with my husband, Isabela. I’ll not give you hints to make your victory easier.”

Isabela smirked. “Oh but you _want_ to. You want to stand on the table and declare to the world exactly what he does to you.” Autumn didn’t deign to respond, and they locked eyes in a brief contest of wills. At the edge of her attention she noticed that Varric had summoned a pen and paper from void knew where, and was scribbling furiously as he watched them with wide eyes.

Dorian tugged at the edge of his collar. “Is it just me, or has it gotten incredibly hot in here?”

Isabela flicked her eyes to him, but it was enough to break their standoff, and when she turned back she was focused on Cullen once again. “So, Curly. How close am I? Is that how it happened? Your body flush against hers, devouring each other before the moment could pass?”

Cullen waited a moment, a furious furrow to his brow, before finally he nodded, just an inch, looking for all the world as though the admission caused him physical pain. Everyone at the table let out a small gasp in response, mouths agape. Cassandra fanned herself with her hand, and Autumn could only imagine the things her mind would conjure after such a confession about their first kiss. Autumn did have to admit; she was impressed that Isabela had gotten that much right. She wasn’t sure she _had_ seen that first kiss coming, although looking back she couldn’t imagine their little meetings having headed anywhere else. Then, when it had happened, her whole world had shifted, like everything in her reality had suddenly jumped one inch to the left. She could still remember the rush of feelings that had swept her away as he had held her closer and closer, and she relived it every time they were together since. Kissing him was an explosion in her head that never got old, that never lessened, whose brightness never dimmed despite the cruel thief of war and tragedy that threatened to take everything else from her.

Cullen raised his voice to be heard over the frantic scribbling of Varric’s pen. “We didn’t bet you could describe a kiss, pirate.”

Isabela tossed him a cheeky salute. “Right you are commander. But I’m just getting started.”

Cullen sneered at her, settling into his seat with a dare in his smirk. “Do your worst.”

“So it all started with a steamy kiss.” Isabela continued. “How very…quaint. From there things must have grown heated fast. You must have locked lips many times after that, catching each other whenever you could, sordid meetings with barely enough time to breathe as you hid from the watchful eyes of the Inquisition.”

Varric snorted, pausing his notation. “They didn’t do much hiding.”

Cassandra slapped him lightly on the side of his head. “Shh, let her talk.”

“Yes please.” Bull added, making Cullen blush all over again.

Isabela nodded her thanks to the audience before continuing. “Oh, but you never had time to _really_ get to know each other, did you? It was always one emergency after another. When one of you was coming, the other one was going, never enough time to do more than stoke those impossible fires simmering right where it counts. It must have driven you _mad_. How _did_ you stand it?”

“We did have a war to occupy our attention.” Cullen answered with another chuckle, and Vivienne added her own small laugh in agreement.

“ _Ha!"_  Isabela crowed, “so I’m right, you were _dying_ to get under all that tight leather and sink your sword in her sheath.”

Cullen turned a shade of red that they hadn’t invented a name for yet, and Autumn slipped a hand beneath the table to brush his thigh. She could feel the tension coiled in his muscles, and she shot him a questioning look, worried that they had taken their games too far and that she would push him past some invisible line that he didn’t truly want to cross. She felt the air leave her lungs in relief when he gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head, reaching to squeeze her fingers between his own.

Finally, he cleared his throat again, holding up his head in defiance of the embarrassment Isabela was trying to make him suffer. “I married her, it shouldn’t be a scandal that I wanted her before that.”

“Rivaini, whatever you do, _don't stop talking_.” Varric pleaded, now five pages deep in his record of the incident.

Autumn scowled over at him. “Varric, I swear on all that is holy, if this ends up in a book I will make it so that you can never write with that hand again.”

Varric waved her off with ink stained fingers. “Fine, I’ll just write it for Cass.”

Cassandra let out a high pitched sound that was something between a nug’s squeak and a griffon’s screech before shrugging, trying to pretend that the moment had never happened at all. “Carry on, then.” She said gruffly.

“I call dibs on a read of that when you’re finished, if you don’t mind, Cassandra.” Dorian said, his voice raspy as he swallowed. Cassandra responded with a breathless nod, and Autumn had a brief fantasy of taking every paper in Varric’s room and setting it ablaze.

Isabela took the invitation to continue, picking up her verbal assault again with relish. “You stalked our dear Inquisitor like a starving lion, didn’t you? Ah, but eventually that hunger was _sated_ , and oooooh that must have been something. Tell me, was it planned? Did you take her on a moonlit stroll and read her poetry from the finest tomes Skyhold had to offer?” Autumn laughed before she knew enough to stop it, stuffing her wine back in her face to muffle herself and shooting Cullen a sheepish look of apology as Isabela continued. “No, definitely not then. Surprising, that is. I would have thought that someone like you, obsessing over something for so long, would have had every detail mapped out in advance.” She tapped her finger thoughtfully against her cards. She tossed another coin into the bet without looking, and Cullen mirrored the action almost involuntarily.

Alistair chuckled, and all eyes turned on him for a moment. “I think you’re forgetting the rather unpredictable nature of the other party involved in this…event.” He nodded in Autumn’s direction and winked at her.

“Don’t encourage her!” Cullen cried.

Alistair held up his hands in supplication, laughing as he spoke. “Sorry, I want to see how this pans out!”

Melody tipped up and whispered something in his ear that made him laugh deeply. He nodded, sitting back in his chair and relaxing, and Autumn realized that it was the most at ease she had ever seen the man. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like being separated from his love for so long. Autumn could barely stand the months that she had to be apart from Cullen when she had been out saving the world, it would have killed her to suffer through years. Yet now here they were, still as in love as the stories had always told, the king and queen of Ferelden like two teenagers enchanted. If nothing else good came out of the peril they were currently facing with the wardens, at least Autumn could say that she helped reunite those two. That had to be worth at least some of the pain that she had suffered to get here.

“You, my dear king, have an excellent point.” Isabela said. “Curly here could have planned for ages, but now that I think about it, the likelihood of a rogue – a _red headed_ rogue at that – actually going along with any plan ever is just absurd.”

Lilly and Melody both turned and spoke in unison. “Hey!” They looked to the others at the table seeking support, but Autumn could tell they wouldn’t find it within _this_ group.

Fenris shrugged and gave them an apologetic look. “She has a point, you know.”

Lilly pouted at him. “Not _all_ of our plans have gone wrong.”

Anders coughed in surprise. “Really? Name even _one_.”

Lilly thought for a moment before she broke out into a bitter scowl, pointing her finger at Melody. “Well, not all of _her_ plans have gone wrong.”

Alistair and Melody looked at one another before breaking out into laughter that shook them both and brought tears to their royal eyes. When Melody could breathe again, she shook her head. “Sorry, but I can’t recall things ever going to plan for me either.” Lilly mumbled something obscene before falling silent once more as Anders wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulder.

“So, that leaves us with something spontaneous.” Isabela leaned back in her chair. “Was it an accidental encounter? Perhaps you just bumped into each other and decided to _bump into_ each other?” Fenris chuckled, earning him a winning grin from his spouse before she went on. “Or perhaps it was after that spectacular Wicked Grace game you mentioned earlier, and you finally found his ‘glistening bits’ too tempting?”

“If it had taken them _that_  long I’d have gone and had him.” Dorian told her.

“Coming from the man who lived in stubborn misery for at least twice as long.” Vivienne snapped, grinning from ear to ear at the chance to tease her fellow mage.

Bull laughed loudly, and Dorian glared at him, earning only a shrug from the hulking warrior. “What? You did take forever to come around.”

"They do have a point." Cassandra added.

" _You_ have absolutely no room to talk." Dorian snapped back, and Cassandra ducked her head and blushed furiously as Varric swallowed a chuckle to avoid earning her anger.  Dorian harrumphed and pointedly turned back to Isabela. “Do continue, my dear gambling aficionado.”

Isabela nodded, focusing once again on Cullen. “So, earlier than that then. Hm.” She stood up and walked around the table, the heels of her thigh-high boots echoing against the floor, looking Cullen up and down, as though seeking the answer in some twitch of muscle, in the bead of sweat as it dripped down his brow, sliding across the contours of his honed physique. Autumn realized that she was staring at the way his muscles corded together at the base of his neck and bit her lip to prevent a hungry growl from slipping past her lips.

“I’m going to say that it was in that stuffy office of yours.” Isabela lowered her voice, and the room fell silent as they all strained to hear. “One night, you both gave in to your carnal desires, and you had her right there on the desk.”

Autumn groaned as Varric stood up in his seat, pointing at the pair of them. “ _HA!”_

“I am going to regret that fucking carriage ride for the rest of my days.” Autumn muttered, and the members that had been present for that ill-advised game of truth or dare laughed in response. “Shut it,” she told them, “or I’ll dare Sera to do something with bees again when she gets back.” The group fell silent again, although the smug smiles on their faces did little to alleviate her ire.

Cullen scowled at Isabela, ignoring the lot of them. “This is still not what you’re supposed to be guessing, pirate.”

“Patience, love.” She purred. She darted her fingers through his hair, mussing his curls slightly as he shrugged her off. “I’m simply warming you up.”

She sauntered back to her spot and took a seat with a flourish, picking up her cards and holding them like a shield in front of her face. She knocked them against her lips for a moment, and then she leaned forward, the entire table mimicking her motion to hang on her ever word.

“It was after you’d had each other in every way you thought possible, but before you tied the knot.” Her voice was an intense whisper, low and velvet thick as it reached their anxious ears. “One night, when you happened to have some time, you locked yourselves away in a hidden corner of the keep. There were candles, mostly for light, because you’re both too pragmatic to think of romance when you have to steal the time you have together like thieves with sticky fingers. Initially, it was your standard torrid affair. You toyed with her, stringing her along, making her pant and writhe beneath your talented little fingers. You absolutely adored the way she looked when she tossed her head back and gasped, the heat from the candles making her skin glisten and shine. Maybe you even satisfied yourself, or herself, a few times first. But then, something seemed to come over you. Something primal, something you hadn’t acknowledged before, something completely forbidden…until then. Until that moment, when you had this pliant woman, bare before you, begging you to do exactly as you wanted with her. Suddenly, her body would become the most holy thing in the world, and all those chantry verses you spent a lifetime studying seemed more and more appropriate to describe the sinful things you wanted to do with her. Maybe there was rope, or maybe it was quicker and dirtier than that, but this is what I believe you did,” Isabela stood up, turning over her cards and slapping them face up onto the table, the glow of victory shining in her eyes. “Commander Cullen took the Inquisitor from behind, moaning chantry verses in her ear as she screamed his name like a filthy prayer, and so was the Templar sullied further than he had ever been before!”

Autumn was prepared to laugh. She was prepared to revel in Isabela’s failure alongside her husband, to enjoy the fact that she had not beaten him in this, even if her cards laying across the table were, of course, perfect. Instead she was shocked into silence when Cullen stood up, his face suffused with rage. Without a word, he tossed his own hand down, revealing the losing cards with as much venom as the simple action could contain. With his now free hands he untied his pouch of coin from his belt, so full that it sagged as it was lifted, and tossed it next to the cards. Then he turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, disappearing behind one of the doors leading outside and slamming it shut with thunderous force.

Autumn sat there for a moment in the heavy silence as everyone slowly turned to look at her. She could feel the pink spreading across her cheeks despite her best effort to remain calm. Her shock was numbing, ice water poured on her electrified veins, her nerves aflutter from being teased upward and then abandoned in a whirlwind of events. Whatever had happened, she was certain it wasn’t what she had intended, and as she had watched her husband storm out of the room, she worried that it really _had_ gone too far.

“Um,” she said, wincing when her voice cracked, “I should probably go get him.”


	49. Acting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have an...interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So again, this has gotten away from me. Originally this was just going to be the beginning of the chapter that ended the game, but the second part needs some more attention from me still, and with the word count of this added to what I have so far the chapter was getting pretty massive. So, I've decided to split it up again. 
> 
> Also, SURPRISE. :) This part in particular is all Kmandergirl's fault. 
> 
> You can expect the conclusion of the game sometime within the next week or so. Give or take a few days. :) I have to put it on the back burner so I can make sure the campaign for my DA RPG group is ready for this weekend, but I promise I am still working on ALL THE WRITING PROJECTS. :D

Cold wind slapped her face as Autumn stepped out of the door that Cullen had just slammed shut, the brisk air almost enough to brace her racing thoughts. Snow filtered down from the sky, dissolving before it ever embraced the stonework below her feet. She could feel it gather in her hair, turning to gentle rain that slipped through the folds of her curls. Her breath puffed through her lips as she glanced around, seeing no sign of the angry commander, or his mystifying retreat. Leaves and dust stirred in the gentle breeze that brushed her hair across her face, and she lifted her hand to shift it back in place, frowning as she considered where he could have gone.

Calloused hands, scented of leather and ale, reached around her from behind, covering her mouth and pulling her backwards into a small storage closet attached to the building. Swiftly, silently, she was enveloped in dim warmth as the door was kicked shut by a heavy, weighted boot. The walls of the closet were lined with supplies, used to keep the drinking populace of Skyhold happy day in and day out, and as her eyes adjusted to the sudden shift in light she noted that it smelled faintly of cheap liquor – and heavily of Cullen.

He kissed along the exposed portion of skin on her neck, his lips warm after the chill air that she had just been pulled from. His breath rippled across her flesh, and any reprimand she had for him after the abrupt greeting melted under the steady heat building across her nerves. Every kiss was lighting a new fire that simmered like a torch held against the frigid dawn, taking her closer and closer to an edge that she was dying to go over, carving a glowing path through her mind that she would follow straight into madness.

“So,” he murmured against her pulse, inhaling in a way that made her head spin, “What’s the plan?”

Autumn grinned, realizing in a rush of relief that none of that impressive performance before had been truth, that his anger had been nothing more than another layer to their current ruse. She bit back the moan that threatened to tear out of her as he nibbled her collarbone before taking a bracing breath. “She keeps her cards tucked under her breasts. I’m going to sabotage her when we get back in, to make sure she can’t use them to cheat the next round.”

She could feel his smirk as his face hovered near her ear, a flutter against her senses that made her lips want to part and her legs want to quake. “So then all I have to do is get a winning hand?”

His arms wrapped closer around her, and he brought his hands to the top button of her shirt, dislodging the fastening with a deft flick of his fingers. She sighed heavily as he pulled aside the fabric, placing another burning kiss on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about that, I have your hand ready to go.” The words felt heavy around the breath in her throat, and she closed her eyes, trying to think properly.

He paused his ministrations for a moment, hesitating. “You want me to cheat?”

“It’s only a bit of payback. Just this once.” She let her voice carry just enough plaintiveness so that she knew he wouldn’t refuse, hoping the reverse wrong would not deter him from what she was sure would be spectacular revenge.

“Hm.” He hummed against her as he mulled it over, and the sound vibrated from his chest all the way through her own. “Alright.” He agreed, and she smiled widely in response, the taste of their impending victory giving her a heady rush of adrenaline.

She took half a step forward, reaching for the closed door in front of them, ready to resume their game of cat and mouse with Isabela, but he pulled her back into him swiftly, locking his thumbs into the top of her pants. He trailed kisses along her jaw, aggressively drawing her back, and she gasped at the sudden ferocity of his ardor. No sooner had her lips parted than he claimed them, tilting her head almost all the way around to gain better access to her, running his tongue along her bottom lip roughly before he took it between his teeth.

“Cullen!” she gasped his name when he allowed her back up for air, dizzy with the sudden attack that had left her heart pounding against the cage of her ribs.

“Did you think I was acting, love?” he growled the sentence into her ear, every word dripping with insatiable hunger. He thrust his hips forward, grinding his length against her ass, eliciting another growl of approval from deep in his throat. He let his reach crawl upward along her body, his hands finding her breasts and eclipsing them, using them as leverage to bring her face close enough again to bite along her jawline in between smoldering kisses. She closed her eyes, drowning in her own head as every part of her body lit up with electrifying need, a moan tearing out of her throat as she wordlessly pleaded for more by arching her back, pressing into him until there was no room left between them.

“Acting?” she managed the question around her lust addled thoughts, trying to piece together what he had meant, what had brought on this sudden tide of hazy need that she was only too happy to indulge.

Cullen’s clever hands slipped downward again, gliding them under the hem of her pants to yank them down to her thighs in one, swift motion. “I couldn’t stop picturing you.” He moved upward again, shifting under her shirt to press his palms to the skin on her breasts. “Pressed against me in the library that day.” He squeezed her roughly, caressing her nipples until he persuaded another whimper to depart from her lips. “The way you moaned that first time on my desk.” He dipped his head and bit her collarbone once more as he brought his fingers down past her stomach and between her thighs, sliding them inside her, moving in tortuously slow circles that made her ache from head to toe. “How you feel every time I’m inside you.”

Then, without warning, his fingers pumped inside her at a frantic pace, thumb pressed against her center as he plied moan after moan from her with each hand-propelled thrust into her core. She was hardly aware of what had happened before the orgasm ripped through her thoughts, her body quaking as she rode out the bright burst of pleasure. She gasped for air, sagging against him as her knees ceased to function, and he cradled her in his arms as the gentle glow of satisfaction spread across her skin.

He let her rest for no more than a few heartbeats before he shifted, leaning her forward and pressing her hands against the wall of the closet, using his knee to part her legs, spreading her wider with a gentle nudge. He undid the lace of his trousers with one hand, dropping them to free the pulsing erection from the constricting leather. He didn’t waste another second before he thrust into her, filling her until she thought she might go blind, and a long, low keening poured out of her and settled around them like warm steam.

He cupped a hand over her mouth, stifling the moan as he growled in her ear. “I only let her win because she wasn’t going to be wrong for much longer.”

He thrust into her, and her ecstasy escaped her lips into his palm, her arms shuddering as she braced herself against the rough wood. His pace was unforgiving, pounding into her like a man rushing towards salvation after an eternity of suffering, like a man who had been lost but had found the light of desire to guide him from the darkness. He leaned into her, pulling her closer without ever stopping the endless rhythm that shook her again and again, every tilt of his hips sending her careening into wordless joy, bringing her to the edge of a glorious release that her body begged for with every clench of muscle.

“The first of the Maker’s children,” he murmured, changing his pace only slightly so that he could match the cadence of the chant, that familiar rhythm that had seemed so dulcet before, now turned to sinful purposes. Sweat formed across his brow, tangling in his hair and bringing out the subtle curl to the golden mane, dripping along his temple before diving onto her shoulder. She cried out into his hand, unable to silence herself as he sang praises that were never intended for her yet suddenly spoken in her dedication, “watched across the Veil.” Cullen increased his pace, a steady crescendo of beating passion, until he was double time against the standard lilting pulse of the verse. “And grew jealous of the life they could not feel, could not touch.” He emphasized his point with roaming caresses, his palms finding purchase against her hips and holding her there, his fingers bruising bone as he steadied her against the tide of his fervor.

It was too much. Her nerves were firing as though filled with lightning, her body rocking to the beat set by Cullen’s drum. She was ice and empty shadow, and he was filling her with fire and light, using inches to tear through her and prove that the world held glory intended only for her. It was faith and sin, heresy dipped in the crystal waters of the greatest truth that she knew. She, spread before the one thing that she could say she held her faith in, and him behind her and within her, delivering her to the one shelter she had from the ever raging storm. The deeper he sank into her, the more she felt holy, the more she felt indestructible. The slap of skin on skin was a hymn, his gasp of breath the key to eternity. Every filthy grunt and drop of dust-trailed sweat was another monument built in honor of their new religion. There were towers of worship forming in the tension between her thighs, the throb of her body enough proof that this god was the only god with power, that this god was real and true and providing for his one and only subject.

“In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame,” he moved his hand away from her mouth, and she bit her lip to silence the whine that wanted to spill out of her. “All consuming, and never satisfied.” He slid his fingers along her clit, matching the pace that he set with his hips, a litany of body and soul driving her to the brink to hover in desperation. “These truths the Maker has revealed to me: as there is but one world, one life, one death. There is but one love, and it is you. I am unworthy, and yet I have given my love to you, for always and forever.”

It was that. A promise, a sacred vow, pledged to her with all the conviction that he once held for the Maker, sung to her with all the beauty of a song intended for a god. She had stolen a prayer and locked it away in her heart, a thief slipping into his faith and claiming his allegiance for her own. There was something about that, something about the dedication once reserved for deity being turned to her, being turned to the worship of her body with a fervor that left her speechless, mewling with inarticulate gratitude that could never truly thank him for the euphoria that he provided. It was this that sent her descending into her release, crying out his name as he filled her with love and irreverence as he found his own.

Her strength gave out, her muscles relinquishing to the inexorable pull of exhaustion, wracked with joy and tempo that left her heaving to catch her breath. Cullen caught her, standing her up to cradle her against his chest, pressing a lingering kiss at the crown of her forehead. His lips were cracked from the rough air his moaning had produced, but to her they were tender and precious. Their ragged lungfuls of air gradually evened out to something passable to normal breathing. She looked up, tears pricking the edges of her eyes, her chest filled with so much nameless frenzy that she could barely contain it. She took an unsteady finger, and tilted his head down so that he met her gaze.

“One love. For always and forever.” She murmured. The relief in his eyes tore at the strings of her heart, plucking her like a cracked violin to make her sorrow sing. That uncertainty had no room in this holy place that they had built. That uncertainty she could destroy, even if it was the only success she could ever have, even if she failed at all the other plans they stacked up in her name. She would not allow him to ever question that her heart belonged to him. She pulled him closer, turning in his arms to press herself against his chest and meet his look with her full attention. “Never doubt that.”

He nodded, and she knew that he believed her. She knew the truth was in her eyes, just as she saw it in his. No matter what happened, no matter what came, the sun would always shine brighter than the moon, and their love would always hold them when all else was gone.

She couldn’t count the moments that they held one another, but eventually she knew that they had to break the spell cast in the heavy fatigue clinging to their limbs. She looked up at her husband, his hair transformed from spun gold waves to dark amber ringlets, and smiled, a soft chuckle shaking her chest. He quirked an eyebrow, a silent question, and she reached up to slip her fingers through his damp tangles. “It’s curled beyond repair at this point. I think they might know what we’ve been up to.”

He snorted, turning to kiss the palm of her hand. “After the story Izzy just told them, I have a feeling they would have accused us whether we were guilty or not.”

“Good point.” She wriggled out of his arms, darting around him to land a slap on his still bare hindquarters. “Now, let’s go win you some revenge.” She said.

The light of mischief that lit up his eyes reminded her of things that seemed so far in the past that they hardly felt real. It reminded her of letters exchanged about druffalo, and an irksome blonde man daring her to press his buttons. She could recall the way it had felt to laugh before she had seen him die in the future that would never be, before she had been dragged through the fade and assaulted by a madman. Before a god had toyed with her fate and changed it beyond repair forever. It reminded her of what it felt like to live life without all of this pressure built up inside her chest, and she clung to the sight, holding it closely so that she would never forget again.


	50. What They Were Fighting For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen wins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god guys I am so freaking sorry this chapter is so late. I hope I didn't leave you guys hanging too badly!!! My car got in a fight with a cement block at the beginning of January and I lost, so I broke my neck, and that threw a bit of a wrench in my scheduling for awhile. (I'm fine, though, fracturing your neck is really not as bad as it sounds.) I also started school again, so I can't promise how often you guys will see updates in the foreseeable future. BUT I WILL NEVER FORGET ABOUT IT. I WANT TO FINISH THESE STORIES SO BAD. I wish I didn't need sleep so I could just work all day do my homework in the afternoon and then write all night long. >.>
> 
> Anyways, I am finally happy enough with this chapter to post it. I think. Hopefully you guys enjoy it. :D And this story is going to go back on hiatus again while I finish Stepping Into Fate, then move on to re-writing Thorns of the Lilly. Tearing Down the Heavens will receive minor edits, THEN, FINALLY, I will finish this one. PLEASE BE PATIENT THANKS AND I LOVE YOU.

The tavern felt sweltering as he opened the door, politely stepping aside to allow Autumn to enter before him. The heat from the lanterns seemed to have increased tenfold since he had left, although that was likely due to the activities that he had just completed with his wife. She gave him a subtle wink before she strode by, the air around her still carrying the heady scent of sweat and sex that clung to her glowing skin. It was tempting to drag her back outside and declare every inch of her as his own once more, using his lips to count the errant freckles along hidden tracks of pale skin, but he knew that she was as excited to finish this game as he was, and he would not deny her that pleasure right now.

Her steps as she led the path back to the table were smaller, her cheeks turning a youthful pink as she cleared her throat, batting her eyes at those gathered. She mumbled something of an apology as they sat, keeping her gaze down and playing the coquettish girl who was embarrassed over their display, or over their obvious post-coitus state. From across the table, Bull raised a brow in Cullen’s direction, seeing through the veneer as though it were a sheer curtain brushed aside by the wind. Cullen shook his head as imperceptibly as he could, to which Bull responded with the ghost of a smile and a nod.

Autumn clapped her hands together, standing beside him. “Well, I’m a bit parched. Love, would you like a drink?”

He looked up at her and didn’t find it difficult to bestow a look of gratitude and adoration onto her. It was for show, but that didn’t mean it was false. “Of course, thank you.” She leaned down and gave him a lingering kiss, and he felt his cheeks heat in response. In spite of what they had just done moments ago, Cullen’s body responded with a sense of immediacy that could drive him mad if he couldn’t reign it in, and he had to shift his position in his chair uncomfortably as he watched her walk away. He saw her engage in conversation with one of the rank and file – Sutherland, he believed – before his attention was called back to the table.

“So, Curly,” Varric drawled, “you gonna give us details, or do I have to guess when I record all this in the under-the-table-romance-novel-to-end-all-romance-novels?”

He smirked at his old friend, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. “All bets are off, dwarf. Use your imagination.”

“Well, he at least has some new material to seed that seedy novel.” Isabela toyed with a dark curl, eyeing him surreptitiously.

“I know I do.” Dorian laid his chin in his hand as he gazed at Cullen, a dreamy expression in his fluttering eyes.

Cole’s frown had all the might of a particularly dangerous kitten. “I don’t think Autumn would want you thinking about it like that.”

Dorian waved the boy off. “Shh, that’s why we don’t tell her.”

Hawke giggled, leaning towards Dorian with a grin that had always meant trouble for as long as Cullen had known her. “How much do you want to pay me _not_ to tell her?”

Dorian bristled. “I could set you on fire, you know.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Anders told him.

“Is the healer threatening me?” Dorian smiled, the lift of his lips like a minefield of dangerous barbs.

Anders laughed. “Actually, I was warning you. The last person that set her on fire got decapitated and thrown into the sea.”

“I remember him!” Merrill squeaked, waving her hands in her excitement. “He was much more pleasant after his head had been removed. Some people never learn manners until it’s too late.”

“Decapitation as punishment for poor manners?” Vivienne looked at Merrill, impressed. “You would do well in Orlais, my dear.”

“ _Ha!"_  Isabela crowed, “I would pay everything I just won to see that.”

Vivienne tapped a manicured nail against her cheek. “We could speak with Briala and have it arranged to bring her to court.”

“Are you kidding?” Bull looked between them with a great guffaw. “She looks like one of those frilly cakes they love so much. She’d be eaten alive.”

“Have you ever seen her fight, Tiny?” Varric asked.

Bull furrowed his brow. “Well, no, but – ”

“Trust me,” Alistair interrupted, his eyes darting to the small Dalish mage, “she’s _more_ than capable.”

Merrill tilted her head in contemplation. “I don’t think I’d like it in Orlais. Too many rules to follow, and I’d miss my clan.”

“No one _likes_ it in Orlais,” Dorian sniffed in distaste, “they just pretend to because it’s the place where they think all the power lives.”

“I daresay the same could be said about Tevinter.” Vivienne retorted.

Dorian snorted and shared a genial smile with the spymaster. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

“Enough politics,” Isabela interjected, “they’re dreadfully boring. What I really want to know is if our naughty chantry boy is ready to lose another round?” she traced the edge of a golden coin, eyeing Cullen like he were a particularly large piece of meat at market.

Anders crossed his arms over his chest, casting her a look of warning. “Izzy…”

“No, it’s fine.” Cullen interrupted with a grateful smile towards the mage. “I suppose I have a bit left to bet before my wife disowns me.” The members of the Inquisition chuckled, and Isabela’s eyes lit up with promise.

“My, my, Curly,” she purred, “You really have done _quite_ well for yourself. What do you say, Fen love, shall we go for a new boat and a summer home on the coast somewhere?” She brushed a hand along Fenris’ cheek before dropping her voice, her tone carrying a heavy measure of sobriety that he would not have expected for a woman having had so much ale. “Let’s make it double or nothing this round.”

“ _Nope_ ,” Hawke lifted her hands off the table, holding them up as though to ward off the expensive idea, “I am pre-emptively _out_.”

“I like a bit of danger,” Dorian said, “I’m in.”

Bull, Fenris, Josephine, and Vivienne all followed his lead, choosing to remain in the game despite such high stakes. All of the others declined to be dealt in, choosing instead to watch the event unfold without putting their coin at risk.

Isabela looked at Cullen, licking her lips in anticipation. “Well, big boy?”

“In.” he said, without hesitation. He hoped Autumn would pull through with her plan, otherwise they might need to sell Skyhold if they ever wanted to retire. If they were ever _allowed_ to retire, he thought bitterly.

Varric slammed his forehead into his palm, groaning. “He never learns.”

Footsteps across the worn floor heralded Autumn’s return, and she eased into her seat while handing Cullen a glass of wine. She had a smug look on her face, one that Cullen recognized well, and he knew that whatever she had planned had been successful, although he could discern no change in Isabela. He trusted Autumn, more than he had ever trusted anyone else in the world, but still his stomach clenched in tense anticipation, the plan still shrouded in enough mystery that he would fret about its failure.

“Did I miss anything good?” Autumn asked, stealing a sip of wine across the lip of the fine crystal glass. The deep red left a faint stain across her lips, and he watched as she used her tongue to swipe it away. He was momentarily distracted by the color sinking into her faintly swollen smile, and he had to swallow several times against the desert that had formed in his throat.

“Your husband hates having money, apparently.” Melody told her, tapping a nervous beat against the grainy table.

Autumn turned to him, her jaw dropping in incredulity. “You’re betting again?! Really?”

“Look, I have to win sometime.” Cullen shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding the full force of her gaze. Façade or no, it was still effective in making him want to bend to her will. “I figure the odds have to be in my favor at this point.”

She glared at him for a moment before setting her cup down on the table with slightly more force than was necessary. “Fine, but if we lose the Keep I’m making you train naked for a week.”

Dorian slammed his hands palm down onto the wood, making half of them jump. “ _For the love of all that is holy: BET EVERYTHING!"_

Varric rolled his eyes. “We’d be homeless too, you nitwit.”

“Nothing has ever been more worth it.” He declared, smoothing his hair back in place after the outburst had dislodged it from its coifed arrangement.

“Down, boy.” Autumn told him, flicking a crumpled piece of paper in his direction.

Dorian ducked fluidly, sticking his tongue out in response just as Cullen caught the movement of the approaching figure out of the corner of his eye. His steps were stilted and ungainly at first, as though balancing the full pitcher of wine in his hands required too much mental effort to move his feet in tandem, but the determination on his face left no doubt in Cullen’s mind as to his destination. Sutherland proved him right as his stuttering path set a trajectory towards Isabela. Cullen made a show of looking in a different direction, posing himself so that he looked lost in the task of counting out money that he didn’t actually have. He covertly kept his attention on the nervous soldier, wondering what would unfold when he reached his target.

He did _not_ expect the man to catch his foot on a loose floorboard approximately three feet away from the pirate. Sutherland’s eyes grew wide as saucers while gravity worked its obstinate spell, pulling the hapless reveler towards the floor in an unwieldly arc. The pitcher of wine flipped from his hands as he spread them out to catch his fall, and they all watched in horrified fascination as it lifted into the air. Time stood still as it seemed to hang suspended in the moment, the liquid building up an opposite reaction within the chipped glass, moving in motion that was slowed to a crawl. As the pitcher reached the apex of its journey and succumbed to gravity the same as its previous bearer, the deep red wave crested and began its own adventure, swirling over the rim and fanning out into the world. It was like a great eagle made of glistening ruby, wings spread wide as it soared across the room.

He blinked, a fraction of a second where his vision was obscured by darkness even as time ticked onward, and when his lids were lifted and the world was made of light once more the bird had finished its travels. Isabela let out a screech as she was doused in the undead juices of forgotten grapes, consumed by the suicidal glory of the first - and last - flight of the vintage Merlot. Her black curls fell flat against her skin and she gasped for breath as the wine dripped across her eyes and nose. Rivulets ran from the hem of her shirt to dash themselves against the ground, and her arms shook as the waterfall of wine broke across her flesh. Her face was swallowed by an expression of rage so unfiltered that he half expected her to start steaming under its severity, but she remained a dripping mess as she turned her gaze to Sutherland, who was still on his hands and knees above the floor, looking more terrified than a man facing the full wrath of the Maker.

Isabela jumped up out of her seat, her face emulating her befouled shirt. “You _idiot_ – ” she reached for the dagger strapped to her hip, but the subtle shift of every other fighter at the table drew her attention before she could act, each person hovering twitching fingers over their own weapons, ready to de-escalate the situation by force if necessary. She reached for a rag poking out of one of her pockets instead, lifting it to wipe the remaining wine off of her face, schooling her expression to one of bemusement again. “Well, this is unfortunate.” Sutherland mumbled something that might have been an apology before turning on his heel and running towards the door, disappearing through the threshold before he would need to face repercussions for his hand in their scam.

Autumn clicked her tongue against her teeth, shaking her head. “What a mess. It looks as though you’re wearing enough wine to ruin several layers of clothes and a week’s worth of red meat pairings.”

The pirate rounded on the Inquisitor, her eyes narrowing into fierce slits that burned across the room. “Indeed I am. Perhaps I can buy some new garments after I win this hand.”

“Perhaps.” Autumn smirked and took another sip of wine, the green in her gaze awash with triumph and mischief. “Although, if you happen to fall on hard times, I’m sure the Inquisition has more than enough to be able to provide a little charity for your…tragic situation.”

Varric leaned towards Cassandra, tilting his chin towards Autumn. “Something has happened here. I don’t know what, but something has definitely happened.”

“I think I know.” Cassandra replied, a smile creeping across her lips. “It is apparently a bad idea to cross Cullen when Autumn is around.”

Varric tilted his head, looking at his newly acquired lover curiously, but Cassandra just shook her head at him. Isabela missed the exchange entirely, too busy studying Autumn for any sign of weakness, any gap in her proverbial armor where she could throw a barb and seek revenge. Cullen waited and caught Varric’s eye, then flashed him a grin and a wink, which forced the dwarf to feign a cough in order to cover the chuckle that erupted from his chest.

With a flourish that sent leftover wine misting from her fingertips, Isabela adjusted her shirt and took her seat at the table once more, wincing only slightly as she settled into the liquid pooling in the chair. Cullen could see the frustration building beneath the calm mask she wore for her expression, simmering just under the surface and reflecting through her golden eyes. Her smile was frigid and dangerous, a cornered predator with nothing left to lose. Were he a lesser man, or perhaps were he backed by a lesser woman, he might have been intimidated. As it was, he found the situation satisfying. All those years of loss after loss after loss would come to an end, with one shining victory tallied under Cullen’s name. He felt no shame whatsoever that it took Autumn’s keen eye and clever scheme to do it. He had accepted long ago that he wasn’t worth anything if he wasn’t at her side. She was his light in the darkness as much as she was the world’s, and without that light he never would have found his way to peace, however tenuous his hold of it.

Cards and bets flew across the table as the game began, as much a wager of wills as it was of coin. The participants stared at one another, searching for a glimmer of pride in an opponent’s eye, or a drop of anxious sweat slipping down a brow. The tension in the room felt like a stone resting against the back of his neck, all his muscles coiling together as he looked at the unsatisfactory cards in his hand. In a game against soldiers or average players it might have sufficed, but in this game it was suicide to bet with cards like the ones pressed against his fingers. Still, he lifted coin and passed it to the betting pool, tapping his heel against the leg of the chair to expel as much nervous energy as he dared.

He blinked, and in that moment he felt a strange tingle run along his hands, his bones reacting to the strange kiss of something almost like magic but not quite the same. The ghost of the lyrium that once stained his veins shifted, all his nerves lit up at once. When he opened his eyes again, his cards had changed, from mediocrity to victory in a fraction of a second. He stilled every muscle in his face, holding his temperate countenance to keep the shock and confusion from registering beyond the depths of his eyes. He stole a glance at Autumn, and her smirk told him more than words ever could have.

“I like helping.” Cole grinned at him from across the table, the expression lacking any trace of the mischief he had just been party to. Cullen promised himself that he would do something special with Cole later, to make up for his part in this scheme.

Dorian raised an eyebrow at his adoptive son. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that before.”

“I wasn’t saying it for you.” Cole said.

“ _Well_ ,” Dorian huffed, rolling his eyes, “then I guess I’ll just move along then.”

Bull watched the entire exchange carefully, shaking his head so that his horns swung to and fro. “Clever.” He mumbled, before tossing his cards on the table and raising his voice to be heard by all. “I’m out.” Dorian turned a questioning gaze to his lover, and Bull shook his head again. The massive warrior’s face split into a broad grin when Autumn tossed them both a good-natured wink, flipping her curls away from her face as she leaned back into her chair. Bull chuckled, pursing his lips, and Dorian cast them both a venomous glare before tossing his cards down, bowing out of the game.

Vivienne raised the bet, with Cullen and Fenris chasing it even higher. Josephine matched it, her eyes shifting from one player to the next over the rim of her splayed hand of cards. When the round made its way back to Cullen once more and he increased the betting pool further, Vivienne and Fenris finally bowed out, their cards sliding across the polished wood as Fenris swore something that sounded like a mix of elven and Tevene.

Isabela eyed the pile of coins that Cullen had tossed into the center of the table, arching a brow in his direction. “Looks like someone went and had his ego stroked some more.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He told her, smirking because he knew that she was furious beneath her calm veneer. There was panic behind her verbal swagger, and he could all but feel her heart pounding beneath the once white cotton of her clothes.

“I would.” Dorian quipped.

“I would just like to finish this hand without dying from secondhand embarrassment.” Josephine huffed, her cheeks flushed as she tried valiantly to focus on the game and the game alone.

Hawke rolled her eyes at the Antivan. “Spoilsport.”

Autumn cleared her throat, sending a pointed look in Josephine’s direction. “Perhaps our ambassador could use a break?”

The women stared at each other for a long time before Josephine politely folded her hand, laying the cards on the table as though she suddenly found them distasteful. “Perhaps you are correct.” Her expression changed in a shift that was as fast as the changing direction of the summer wind, her smile lighting up her eyes once more. “Would anyone else care for some refreshments?”

Smoke billowed from the point directly next to Josephine’s elbow as Cole materialized next to her, a glass full of vivid, pink liquid balanced in his long fingers. Josephine jumped, a squeak of surprise escaping her throat as her eyes widened.

“Sorry, you were thirsty.” Cole mumbled, dipping his head as his cheeks gained a little color.

Josephine took the glass from his hand, setting it on the table with prim deliberation as she collected herself again. “Yes, thank you, Cole. You are very kind.” He smiled before returning to his seat, this time without passing through the folds of the fade.

Isabela’s eyes were darting around the table now, flicking from one face to the next, searching for an escape route that Cullen was confident wasn’t there. “Well, Izzy,” he drawled, “Looks like it’s just you and me again. How confident are you in your hand?”

Merrill scoffed at him. “She _always_ wins, Cullen. I’m sure she can do it again!”

“Yes, thank you for the vote of confidence Kitten.” Isabela ground out the words through gritted teeth, keeping her eyes locked on Cullen as she spoke. Fenris choose that moment to lean over and whisper something into her ear, nothing audible to Cullen from his vantage point at the other end of the table but the barest hint of a low whisper. Isabela tilted her head to glare at him then shook it so vehemently her earrings jangled against her lobes. “Not a chance.” She spat out, and Fenris shrugged and backed away again, resuming his stoic observance of the event.

Cullen smirked. “Something wrong?”

“I’m calling your bluff, lover boy. Whatever game you’re playing, you don’t have the luck to beat me.” She replied. She turned her cards and fanned them out on the table before her, and the room lost its noise as a rush of gasps chased away the conversation. Her hand was impressive for someone who hadn’t been able to cheat this round. The matching cards were lined up in a perfect row, their faces appearing almost as smug as the Rivaini grin above them. She licked her lips, the only sign of her anxious impatience, her white teeth too bright in the tense smile.

He couldn’t help it. He started laughing. First a small chuckle, but as Isabela’s face started to fall in despair it turned into something stronger, a baritone rumble that filled the room and shook the muscles along his sides. He slapped the table, wiping a tear from his eye with his other hand, and Autumn had to muffle a giggle next to him while the rest of the table offered raised eyebrows and skeptical glances. As he laid his cards out for all to see, he could feel his wife preening beside him, her exultant glow almost as sweet as the fury that immediately overcame Isabela. There before them all was a perfect hand, the nearly impossible collection of cards that would always win, without fail.

“Hooooly shit.” Varric said, letting out a low whistle as his gaze cycled between the cards, the pirate, and the commander.

Anders started laughing, leaning forward to examine the hand. “No way.” He looked to the others, his grin wide and disbelieving. “Is this the same reality? Have we fallen in the fade? Quick, someone open a door to see if it still leads where it’s supposed to.”

Cullen ignored them as he watched Isabela simmer. He could see her anger peaking, reaching a boiling point as her cheeks flushed a deep red.

Finally she could keep her tongue still no longer, and she leaped up from her chair, slamming a fist on the table. “You cheating bastard!”

“You haven’t an ounce of proof!” he parroted, echoing her earlier words with an irrepressible smile stuck to his lips. This moment filled him with a glory that he was almost ashamed of, that he was almost afraid of for how light it made his heart feel amidst all the madness that formed his life.

Isabela aimed a shaking finger at Autumn, the muscles in her jaw working as she spoke. “This is _your_ doing!”

“Me?” Autumn placed a hand over her heart, the feigned honesty less convincing considering the victorious smile that lit up her face. “I wasn’t even in this round. And I’ve been sitting here, in plain view, the whole time.” She bat her eyelashes, her green eyes venomous in their overt sweetness.

Isabella sank back into her chair, a nonplussed expression slowly overtaking her features. The realization of her loss sank in, the melting of a great glacier, the sun chipping away at the icy veneer until all that was left was her astounded face, looking from one grinning tablemate to the next. Beneath the shock and the incredulous drop of her jaw, however, Cullen saw something more fragile. He saw the fleeting stirring of something far too real to ever be seen on the indomitable pirate. Within her golden gaze was a tremor of fear, of loss that made him ache with sudden sympathy. This had been her pride after all, her endless victory over his luckless games. He had taken back his own pride, but it had cost her a large chunk of her own, and despite the fact that she certainly had enough of it to go around, he found himself sorry that he had taken it. He had taken too much from too many people over the years. This victory was earned, and it was his, but if he did not do something it would turn to bitter bile lingering at the back of his cheers and toasts. He did not want to be the man that took.

He stood, his chair dragging across the floor amidst the clamor of their friends. He could feel Autumn’s eyes track him with every step across the room, working his way around the errant chairs and smiling faces to stand next to the despair addled pirate.

When he spoke, his voice was low and sincere, an honest affirmation that represented all of his complicated feelings towards his strange, strange friends. “Izz…good game.” He held out his hand to her, and she looked up at him, her glassy eyes wavering between rage and hesitation. It took her a moment, one long moment that didn’t surprise Cullen in the least. These things didn’t come easy to Isabela, nor did they come quickly, but in the end she wanted them just as much as the rest of the world did. She leaped to her feet and pushed aside his hand, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug so fierce it took his breath away. He returned it, his mind playing back all the moments she had made him laugh in Kirkwall, all the times she had kept the girls at the Blooming Rose from teasing him mercilessly, all the times that she had bought him an ale when his days had seemed to stretch longer than years.

“Good game, Curly.” She choked on the emotion lurking behind the words, and he squeezed her tighter for half a second, holding on to a bit of his past, one of the few bits of his past that he did not want to lose.

She eventually let go and stepped back, blinking several times to hide the moisture in her eyes. “So does this mean you’re going to retire from your gambling ways?”

“Not a chance, pirate. If I can beat you once, I can beat you again.”

Her smile was the salt laden breeze on becalmed seas, and the room filled with joy as everyone laughed. Today there were no Warden mysteries, no demons or gods or threats of doom. Today there was a room full of people that had carved out a piece of the world to share together. A room full of love and support, and people who had sacrificed everything just to stand by one another’s side. In the darkness that was sure to come, he would remember this moment. The light in his wife’s eyes that was untainted by the burden of her responsibilities. The love on the queen’s face as she leaned against her husband’s shoulder. The easy smile that came to Anders’ face as he held Hawke without the shadow of another mind to tear him down. Friends turned to lovers, or comrades turned to family. _This_ is what he would fight for, always. If he could save this, if he could keep this whole and pure, then none of what he had gone through - or would go through - would ever be in vain.

“So,” Bull drawled, one arm wrapped around Dorian’s shoulder, “what are you going to do with all that loot?”

Cullen looked down at the pile of money, so lost in his affection for his friends that he had forgotten about actually _winning_ something. The coin glittered in the lamplight, and he furrowed his brows. He looked to Autumn, and she smiled at him, sitting cross legged in her chair with her dainty feet hanging over the edge. Her hair shimmered as brightly as her eyes, iridescent with color and love. His hummingbird, staying by his side despite all of the odds against it. Looking at her, only one thing came to mind that was worth all the gold on the table.

“How much does a vacation cost?” he said, chuckling as Autumn rolled her eyes in response.

“For you?” Josephine snorted ungracefully, shaking her head. “Much more than you have.”

He had a feeling that would have been the answer no matter the amount in the pile before them, but it was always worth it to ask. Still, he had won a memory that he would cherish, and that was far more valuable to him. Even if he had to say goodbye to each of them tomorrow, and even if he would have to face the inevitable war marching from somewhere in the north. He had won something important today. Something that had faded in the endless tide of emergencies that seemed to find their way into his life. There was darkness, and there was pain, and there would be loss that he would try not to think about, but today he had won purpose again. Today he had remembered what held him together when he was drowning in the thick of despair.

Cullen had remembered what they were fighting for.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always happy to have people follow me on tumblr (http://zombolouge.tumblr.com/) and twitter (@zombolouge) where I occasionally post about my writing or just random things in general. :)


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